


the color yellow

by demisbum



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, Louis Tomlinson - Fandom, One Direction
Genre: 70s, BoyxBoy, Imbadattags, LGBTQ, M/M, Romance, Seventies, Yikes, ahhhhh, larry - Freeform, larrystylinson, vintage, yellow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 173,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23992297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demisbum/pseuds/demisbum
Summary: Charlesden is home of everything boring, where nothing exciting ever happens. Harry dreams of being more than a small-town boy and craves for more, and then in walks a mysterious Louis Tomlinson to turn his life upside-down.Here’s to a seventies romance, so much confusion, and some good goddamn music.
Relationships: harryandlouis - Relationship, harrystyles - Relationship, larrystylinson - Relationship, louistomlinson - Relationship
Comments: 21
Kudos: 46





	1. Prologue

yellow is all i see

it wraps around him like the warmth from the sun

i hear his voice and see mustard yellow swirls dancing through my mind

yellow radiates through his smile

and i lunge at it

needing his brightness in my grasp

but the sun is hot in my hands

burning all traces

and as the fire envelops me

yellow is all i see

______________

in the fall of 1975, two boys find their way to each other in an unexpected romance.


	2. 1.

october, 1975. 

Extraordinary. A word he could never seem to spell right, but wanted to be so badly. 

Harry often found himself staring into mirrors, much like he is now, and thinking, "is this it?" 

He sighs, tucks a long strand of hair behind his ear, and leaves the bathroom to get back to work. The bakery doesn't usually have anyone after lunchtime, so he decides to take a seat behind the counter and flip through a Rolling Stone magazine he'd found. It was last month's issue, but he doesn't care, because the Eagles were on the cover, and he loves the Eagles.

He purses his lips and flips through the magazine a little more, and then sighs again. He wants to be amazing enough to end up on a magazine like this.

"Um," someone mutters.

Harry looks up at the man that somehow walked into the bakery without him knowing. Usually the bell above the door snaps him out of his daydreams, but this time it didn't. He stands hastily, which makes the magazine fall from his lap and to the floor. He ignores it and gives the man in front of him a shy smile.

"Welcome to Styles' Bakery, how may I help you?"

The guy moves over to the display of pastries and fresh bread. Harry watches silently, feeling awkward with his hands behind his back as he waited for this guy to order something.

"Do you have coffee?" He suddenly asks. He was still looking at the pastry display.

Harry moves behind the display and bends down to be eye-level with him. The guy doesn't notice him for a second, but then his eyes find Harry's and he stands up. 

"Uh," Harry starts, squinting his eyes in thought. "Well. I've made coffee for myself. We don't sell it. But if you want some, guess I can pour you a cup."

"Oh," he says, then scratches the back of his head. "Only if it's good."

Harry starts biting on his lower lip, suddenly self-conscious about the coffee he'd made, but then the guy releases a really loud laugh that eases his nerves. So, he smiles, walks to the back room where the coffeemaker was, and pours the stranger a cup. Stupidly, though, he didn't ask how he took it, so he had to make multiple trips back and forth with coffee questions because he kept forgetting what to ask. One sugar? Two? Wait, do you want milk in it? Oh, and creamer, right? Then the guy finally said he just took it black, after replying with a "no" after every question.

"Right. Black coffee," Harry says as he hands him a mug carefully over the counter. 

"Got today's paper?"

Harry nods and scrambles around to find where his dad had read it earlier in the morning. He grabs it and gives it to him to read. The guy with the blue eyes thanks him and stares at it while taking a seat at one of the few tables they had in the bakery.

Harry messes with his thumbs, fiddles with the back of his apron, and finds it awkward that they were in this dreadful silence. So, Harry turns around to the table behind him and puts a record on. Harry usually listens to it when he cleans up. He turns it down so that it would only be background music, but the record instantly calms him. He sits back down and clears his throat, trying not to look at the blue-eyed boy. Harry picks up the magazine he'd dropped earlier and tries to read it over again.

Of course, that only worked for a second, because the loud sips the guy would take would distract him. It was really loud. 

"What's your name?" Harry asks as he placed his elbow on the counter, his chin resting in the palm of his hand. "Haven't seen you here before."

"To Charlesden, England? Reckon you don't get many new people here." Harry smiles, still waiting on his name. He takes another loud sip of his coffee before saying, "Louis."

Harry nods. "Yeah, we don't. We're that little town tucked away for safe keeping. I'm Harry, nice to meet you."

Louis looks at Harry and eyes him up and down, as if he hadn't really looked at him before. It makes Harry feel a little weird to be stared at so intently by someone who looks so expressionless. Harry runs his fingers through his hair, out of habit, and bites his lip again. Louis looks older than Harry. He can tell by the way he carries himself. He's wearing something rather simple: a white t-shirt and black jeans. He has glasses on that he hadn't been wearing when he walked in, but must have put on when he was reading the paper. They were sort of rounded, but not John Lennon rounded and small. Just a bigger version (but also not Grandpa big) that suits him oddly well.

"You like the Eagles?" Louis asks.

Harry looks down at his magazine and smiles. "Yeah. And lots of other music. I love music."

Louis nods and takes another loud sip of his coffee. He was still intently staring at Harry, and it made him squirm a little. "I quite like the older stuff. This new disco-groovy—whatever it is—stuff doesn't really get on with me."

Harry snorts. "The Eagles have this southern rock sound, it's not what you described. And there's Queen, Led Zeppelin—Lynyrd Skynyrd!"

"Still devastated about The Beatles breakup. They were amazing," he says as he shakes his head. "And I've never heard of... Queen?"

"I wasn't really into The Beatles when I was a kid. Think I was the only one. After they broke up, though, and just recently, is when I started listening to them. They were incredible," Harry sighs out. To be honest, he was only a kid when they were together. They broke up when he was thirteen, and at that age, he didn't appreciate music like he does now.

"And Queen! Bohemian Rhapsody! Surely you've heard it."

Louis scratches his nose and then takes off his glasses. "Don't think so," he says as he folds his newspaper. He lightly sat his glasses on top of it. "How old are you?"

Harry looks down at his magazine. "Eighteen. And you?"

"Twenty-two."

Harry gazes up and tilts his head, staring at Louis to see if he really did look twenty-two. Not that he hangs around twenty-two-year-old's, but Louis could pass as younger. "Hm," Harry starts, "you should really listen to Queen. Just saying."

"Do you have a tape of them, then? Maybe I'll give them a listen."

Harry deflates. "No. I don't. I prefer records over those tapes," he says with a disapproving look. "But if you switch on the radio you might hear them. Always playing on there."

Louis stands, with the mug and newspaper in hand, and walks over to Harry. He puts them both on the counter and starts to reach for his wallet, but Harry stops him. 

"Well at least keep it for yourself. Eighteen-year-old's need to save up for University and such," Louis argues when Harry said that paying wasn't necessary.

He laughs. "Haven't graduated yet, so save it for the things twenty-two-year-old's buy."

Louis raises a brow and puts his hand on the counter. "Just turn eighteen?" He asks.

Harry embarrassingly shakes his head. "Wasn't very smart in year five. Or my teacher loved me so much that she kept me another year. However you'd like to look at it." 

Louis holds out the money (it was five pounds!) and waits for Harry to take it. Harry doesn't. "Harry, boy, take it. It's only a fiver."

"Cups of coffee around here are only twenty pence, so you're overpaying! Won't take it. Take your paper and have a lovely day, Louis."

Louis narrows his eyes, stares into Harry's, and then exhales loudly. "Fine. Then thank you for the wonderful conversation," Louis says, only to put the money in the tip jar on the counter. Harry was about to argue, but Louis was already on his way out with a wave.

Harry shakes his head and grabs the money from the jar, along with the other coins, and puts it in his back pocket. His eyes trail outside the large windows of the bakery and widen when Louis steps into a Ford Mustang. Rich people, Harry thought to himself. He grabs a clean rag and walks over to the table Louis was on to wipe off the splatter of coffee on the table, but he stops when he notices Louis' glasses. 

"Louis," Harry says with a shake of his head. "Nice goin'." Harry has a feeling he wouldn't come back for them. He seemed insanely rich; he could just buy some more. He folds them onto the collar of his shirt, wipes down the table, and then takes the coffee mug in the back to clean it. 

———

"Gemma, do you have to wear that out?" Harry's mum asks his sister. Harry was sitting on the sofa and trying to mind his own business.

"It's a skirt! It's not the end of the world!" She argued.

"But it's so...short." 

"What's the problem with that?"

"Men love young girls and legs, Gemma."

"Oh, well, let me go change, then. I'd love to change because men have a fetish with girls' knees."

"Gem," his mother warningly says.

"I love being a woman!" Gemma shouts, ignoring their mum. "I love not being able to wear what I want because middle-aged people think showing a little leg is asking for sex. What an amazing time we live in. Now I have to change because my shins are so fuckin' inviting." Gemma rolls her eyes and starts to walk over to the stairs. "This is why I protest, mum!"

Harry's mother massages her temples and exhales loudly. He put on a smile and pats the seat beside him. She sits down with a groan and stares at the television before exhaling again.

"Trying my best here," she mumbles.

Harry grabs her hand. "I know."

"She's nearly twenty. You'd think we wouldn't fight over skirts anymore."

"She can handle herself, mum. She had those self-defense classes, remember?"

"I thought the skirt was cute, too. I just know how men are."

"I'm not like that!" Harry defends. 

Anne smiles and shook her fingers through his long hair. "No, but you definitely need a hair cut!"

"It's in style, mum. Let me live."

They were both laughing when Gemma walked back down the stairs in high-waisted jeans and a low-cut, long-sleeve button-up shirt with it tied up to her ribs. His mother groans but must know arguing is pointless, because she doesn't say anything about it.

"Just put on a jacket, Gem, it's freezing out."

She grins and gladly puts on a jacket. She has white flowers in her hair, and Harry wonders how those would stay in all night. 

As soon as they were about to leave, though, the rotary phone rings. Anne tells them to let it ring, but Harry says it could be Niall, so he couldn't let it go. He walks over to the phone on the wall and answers it with a polite hello.

"Harry! Guess what! Genevieve and her friend are at the diner. C'mon, you've gotta help me out here. Her friend is a total babe, don't worry. I just need some back up, mate."

Harry sighs and looks at his mum. She shakes her head and knows what he was about to ask, so she just waves dismissively and leaves with Gemma. "All right, I'm on my way. Be there in ten."

He hangs up the phone and heads out the door, locking it behind him, and then he makes his way towards the diner. It wasn't that far away, just a short walk, but the cold air makes it feel so much longer. When he does enter the diner, he walks straight to the counter, orders hot chocolate, and then looks around for Niall. 

"You took forever," Niall says as he walks over to him. "My good looks can only occupy them for a short amount of time."

"Where are they?" He quietly asks. Niall motions his head towards the girls in the booth near the back. Genevieve has long dark hair and a white dress on, and the girl beside her has red hair and a blue shirt on. Then she gets up and starts walking over to them; she has a miniskirt similar to the one Gemma was wearing earlier. 

Harry clears his throat when she stops beside them to order a Coke, and then smiles in their direction. Niall nudges Harry's side.

"Hi," Harry chokes out. He clears his throat. "M'Harry, hello."

She giggles playfully. "Hi, Harry. I'm Gracie."

When his hot chocolate was placed in front of him, he grabs it and takes a large gulp, then coughed when it burned down his tongue and throat. 

"Are you okay?" She asks, leaning over to rub his shoulder. She holds out her Coke. "Here, take a sip."

He shakes his head and he can feel his cheeks heat up. "No, that's okay. I'm fine. I'm good. Just...it's hot."

She laughs again, and Harry wonders what was so funny, but he'll take that over her thinking that he's a total dork. She probably does anyway. "Wanna sit with me? And my friend?"

Harry saw Niall nod his head quickly behind her. So he smiles and said yes, and together, they all walked over to the booth. Niall sat beside Genevieve with a wide smile, and she smiles awkwardly back. It was quiet for a moment, but thank God the radio in the diner was loud enough for Harry to pick up Bohemian Rhapsody on the radio. He doesn't understand it, but when songs he knew were on during awkward situations, he immediately felt better. So he hums along and sips his hot chocolate.

"This song is so weird," Gracie says with a scrunch of her nose.

Harry presses his lips together for a moment. "I think it's really cool."

"It's like the song is can't make up its mind, though," she laughs out. And then proceeds to scoot closer to Harry.

He fake laughs along. "Just goes to show the amazing lengths people can go to in just one song. This song is gonna be legendary one day."

"Eh. I'm a Janis Ian girl."

"Oh, well. She's amazing, too. That new stuff she just put out is an instant classic, huh?" Harry says with a smile. 

"Yeah. I mean, that one song is a little lame. Like, we're not all losers and stuff."

Harry blinks. He hopes she isn't talking about the song he's most in love with. Harry's just a little protective when it comes to good music, and when people don't understand good music, it just...sucks for them. And he goes a little overboard with trying to explain to them how amazing all music is, but their peanut brains don't crack open to try and accept it. Their loss. 

"At Seventeen?" Harry questions. He saw Niall sigh in defeat, knowing they wouldn't get anywhere with these girls once something like this happens.

"Yeah! That one!" She says with a smile.

Harry's nose scrunches up. He stared at Niall, who was glaring, telepathically telling him to shut up. But he can't, not when what she's saying is so closed-minded.

"Well," Harry starts, and Niall hunches in his seat. "I think it's an important song. You know, 'cause not everyone reaches the beauty standards that magazines set, or are popular. We need songs that reach to all people. There's all these songs about happiness and love, but people aren't all happy and in love. You know? Like, it's a great song, obviously, or it wouldn't be as popular as it is now."

Gracie rubs her lips together and plasters a fake smile on her lips. "Yeah. Right."

Niall abruptly stands up and runs a hand through his hair, motioning for Harry to follow him. Harry excuses himself from the table and follows Niall to the counter. 

"I'm going to murder you," he whispers to Harry.

"I can't have opinions?" Harry asks. 

"Not when a cute girl is involved."

Harry rolls his eyes and doesn't tell Niall about the two girls that were currently sneaking out of the diner behind his back, and instead grabs his shoulder and walks him towards the side-door exit. "We don't need girls," he says with a smile.

Niall protests and went to turn around, but Harry tightens his grip on him and forces him out the door. "We're the cool guys that just left two cute girls in a booth. Tell that to Liam tomorrow, he'll worship you."

"For what?!"

"Say they weren't hot enough for you."

"But they were!"

"Go smoke a joint," Harry says with a roll of his eyes. 

———

"Why didn't you ask 'em out?" Liam asks Niall.

"Weren't hot enough. I've got standards," Niall says before he pops his collar. "Obviously."

"Seems a bit rude," Liam mumbles once he shut his locker. 

"You're a bit rude," Harry says. He put on the glasses Louis left at the bakery.

"When did you get those?" Liam asks, and then he groans out of frustration and shakes his head. "What is wrong with everyone today?"

"Some guy left them at the bakery. I look cool in them, though."

"You look like a bloody nerd, take them off," Niall says.

Harry shoves Niall's shoulder and takes them off. They start to walk down the hall to get to class together, only to groan in unison when they see posters hanging up for the Fall dance next month. It wasn't that they hated dances, it's just that girls didn't like them. No matter how hard Niall tried to look like the Fonz.

"How about we just not go?" Harry suggests.

"I'm gonna get a date this time. Watch me," Liam says, very determined. 

Liam was currently pining after a girl named Olivia, but he's too shy to even look at her in the halls. He's always pining after someone, though, because he likes the idea of being in a relationship too much.

"With Olivia?" Niall playfully says.

Liam hits him with his book and widens his eyes. "She's right there!"

"At the other end of the damn hall, Liam. Just stop being a wuss and ask her out."

"Right on," Harry says with a wide smile, just to mess with Liam.

"I need some new friends."

Harry laughs and pats Liam's shoulder before waving goodbye to head to his next class. The smile soon left his face when he was walking past everyone in the hall. He spots people holding hands, or people just laughing with others, and he swallows down a lump that was forming. These people will never know he even existed. He'll graduate soon and then disappear into nothingness. He hates feeling insignificant like this. He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and pushes those thoughts away so that he won't be in tears by the time he reaches his next lesson.


	3. 2.

Harry never asked to work at the bakery. It's just something he knew he had to do, and it became a routine. After school, he'd go straight to work, and on the weekends, he was there all day if he had to be. His mother was generous enough to let him off on the weekends, but occasionally, he had to work them. He respected his mum for starting a business from nothing at all, but it didn't help with him trying to decide what to do with his life. When he voiced these opinions, his mother would just pat his shoulder and say that he could own the bakery one day, but he didn't want that. 

He thinks he wants to learn how to play the guitar. But it could possibly be too late to learn anything, or to fit learning an instrument in his schedule. His brain hurt as he thought about all of this; the pressure of being exceptional was bearing down on him every second that he breathed. Why couldn't he dream of being a dentist instead? 

He'd just placed a fresh batch of croissants out in the glass case and was currently rearranging them when the bell above the door rang. He let out a strange noise, overwhelmed, croissants in his hands, and welcomed the customer as politely as he could. He hurriedly put the croissants down and slid the tray into the display case; the customer might want some. Harry put on a smile and looked up, and then his smile widened when he saw it was Louis.

"Look who's back!" 

Louis looks the same. Hopefully it was a different white shirt from the one he wore a couple of weeks ago. His hair is slightly wavy on his forehead and it looks so soft. He smiles at Harry and walks over to the pastries, the display case separating them. 

"I've spent a long time trying to find some glasses, and then I realized I must have left them here. You haven't happened to see them, have you?"

Harry squints his eyes in thought. "Glasses," he says, humming while rubbing his chin. "One moment." He left Louis and stepped into the back room where he had his school bag, and then walked out and put it on the counter. He opened the pocket and pulled out the gold-framed glasses, held them up, and inspected them. "You see, I can't just hand these over without knowing if they truly belong to you."

"Harry," Louis said, putting his hands on the counter and leaning forward. "You saw me in them."

"Not good enough, I don't think," Harry says with a shit-eating grin. 

Louis huffs out of his nose. "My initials are on the inside. L.T."

Harry narrows his eyes playfully and opens the glasses, but couldn't help but flush a tiny bit, which he hates. Why is blushing ever a good thing? The initials were on the inside of the temple part of the glasses, so he handed them over with a much shyer smile. "Well, would you like a cup of coffee while you're here?"

Louis put his glasses on and nodded. "Sure. And are those fresh?" He asks, pointing to the croissants. Harry nodded. "Can I have one of those, too, then?"

"Sure." 

Harry opened the case and grabbed a plate, put a croissant on it, and asked Louis if that's all he wanted, to which Louis replied with a yes. So he put it beside the register and went to the back to pour him a cup of coffee, and then returned to the register. He put his school bag on the floor and pushed down the numbers of the croissant price, and told Louis the price. Louis gave a tenner this time, and told Harry to keep the change. He shook his head and couldn't believe what he'd heard. 

"Seriously?"

Louis nodded once and grabbed his plate and coffee, and then sat at a table. Harry was about to walk over to him and tell him to take the change that he was supposed to give, but someone walked in and loudly greeted Harry.

"Niall," Harry whisper-groaned his name. 

"Oi, what's it this time?" Niall asks as he hopped over the counter. He helped himself to a chocolate filled pie in the pastry case. "Mum wants the usual, by the way."

Harry looked at Louis and then moved out behind the counter and to the freshly made bread. He pulled out two loaves and put them in individual bags, then put both in one large bag, and then gave them to Niall. Niall handed him the money and made himself comfortable on the counter. Harry rolled his eyes and left to walk over to Louis' table. 

"Hey, I can't take this money," Harry tried to sternly say, as he handed Louis his change. 

Louis sipped his coffee loudly, once again, and then shook his head. "You've kept my glasses nice and safe in your bag over there, so thought it was well-deserved."

Harry's mouth opened but no words came out. Louis was the one giving a shit-eating grin now, and he happily put his coffee cup down and put his forearms on the table, leaning forward towards Harry. 

"Thanks for that."

Harry closed his mouth and smiled. "Welcome," he replies. "Is it any good?" He asks, motioning to Louis' plate. 

"Mhm," Louis hums out. Then he leaned back in his chair and took another bite of it. "You make it yourself?"

"Yeah. Mum's recipe," Harry proudly smiles out.

"Hey, you just moved here, yeah?" Harry heard Niall say. Niall walked over to them. "Think you just moved in beside me. I'm Niall."

Louis sat up a little straighter and nodded. He suddenly looked his age: mature and serious. Louis' been nothing but playful (apart from his intent staring most of the time) and it always made him seem so much younger. 

"Yes, I did. Lovely little town. And I'm Louis."

"Where'd you move from?" Niall asks. Harry couldn't be mad at Niall for prying, because he wanted to know, too.

"London. Liked the country life a little more, so I moved here. Great place for filming."

"You make films?" Harry asks. Louis' eyes found his and he smiled.

"Yeah. Hobby of mine, don't do much else."

Harry stared in fascination. It's pretty cool, his hobby. He wonders what he's currently filming.

"You workin' anywhere?" Niall questions. Louis didn't even seem to care that he was asking so many questions. "Or do you just film? Like, what do you even film?"

Louis rubs his hands together and exhales a laugh through his nose. "Mostly film weddings at the moment. And I take photographs, and no, don't work anywhere. Just doing my own thing. You're Harry's friend?"

Niall nods and helps himself to a seat at Louis' table. Harry widens his eyes, but Louis looks amused by how outgoing Niall was being. 

"Yeah, been friends all our lives. Once you get here, you don't really get out." Niall put his loaves of bread on the table and scratches behind his ear. "Big house you just moved into. You married? How old are you?"

Louis fully laughed this time. "You're not shy, are you? Not married. I'm twenty-three."

Niall just shrugs. 

"He's shy when it comes to women," Harry quietly says.

Niall gaped up at Harry and then reached his foot out in an attempt to kick Harry's shin. "Twat."

Louis laughs, stands, takes another loud sip of his drink, and then put his glasses on. He walked around the table to give Harry a friendly pat on his shoulder, and then shook Niall's hand. "Nice chatting with you both, but best be on my way. Nice and sunny out, great day to take some photographs. See you 'round," Louis says with a wide smile, waving as he left. 

Harry watches as he got into his expensive car, and then sighs to himself. Niall stood up, with his bread in hand, and flicked Harry's shoulder. "Wanna eat with us? We're havin' pasta."

Harry looked at the clock on the wall and pursed his lips. He had to close up in forty-five minutes, but it's not like anyone would come in. So he rang his mum, asked if it was okay to do it and that he was going to Niall's to eat, and she said it was fine. Niall said he had to get the bread to his mum and left while Harry cleaned and put away the food. He decided to put a lot of desserts together for Niall's mum when he went over. It was the polite thing to do.

When everything was done he shut off the lights, closed the door behind him, and locked it up. His house wasn't all that far, so the walk wasn't terrible. In the little town they lived in, nearly everything was in walking distance. Everyone knew everyone, and if they didn't, they'd make sure to get to know them. Harry wonders if Louis has been given all the hospitality the newcomers get when they arrive here. He thought it was always a little overwhelming, but it apparently hasn't scared him off yet. 

The wind was blowing cold air on his face and he could feel his nose going numb already. He pulled his jacket tighter around his body and kept walking, but found himself stopping when he reached the park and saw Louis with a camera out, snapping photo's of trees. Harry tilts his head in confusion and wonders what could be so picture-worthy of trees. He keeps walking, though, with glances at Louis every so-often. Louis turns to look around, and when he spots Harry, he starts making his way over with his camera strapped around his neck and a smile resting on his red lips.

"Bit chilly. Where you headed off to?"

Harry pulls a hand out of his coat pocket to rub his numb nose. "Niall's for supper. Having a good time?"

Louis raises his camera and looks at Harry through it. The shutter sounded, signaling that he had just taken a picture of him. "I am."

Harry covers his face with his hand. "I hate being famous. Can't leave the house without getting photographed these days."

He heard the shutter of the camera again.

"Tragic. Absolutely tragic."

"Tell me about it," Harry says with a pout as he lowers his hand back down. He didn't seem to mind that a stranger was taking pictures of him. Louis snaps another one when Harry shivers; he pulls his jacket closer to himself. "What're you doing?" He finally asks, shaking his head with a slight smile. Surely there isn't a need to take all these pictures of him.

Louis put his camera down and motioned to his car behind Harry. "Taking you to Niall's. Too cold for a walk. And I'm on my way there since my house is apparently beside his."

Harry looks at Louis, then looks at his awesome car, and then looks at Louis again. "It's fine, I can walk. Don't want to be a bother," he painfully says. A ride in that amazing car seems like a dream. A distant, wonderful dream.

"Is it because I'm new? Can't trust the new guy to give you a ride to your friend's house?"

Harry shakes his head with a serious look on his face. "Not at all. Just seemed like you were enjoying yourself out here. Don't want to ruin that."

Louis waves dismissively and pulls out his car keys as he walks over to his luxurious car and opens the door. "You're coming, young Harry. You've wasted too much time talking to me, now you're definitely going to be late." 

Harry bites his lower lip and looks at the red car, then looks at the desserts in his hand. When he looks up, he notices Louis' staring, with his brows raised, and the passenger door open. 

"I don't bite," Louis says.

Harry scrunches his nose before sighing, giving in. Louis smiles.

"Yeah, but I do if you pull anything," Harry jokingly says. 

Louis raises his hands up and moves away so that Harry could climb into the car, and Harry died. Internally died. It's just too fancy for him too handle. He went to close the door, but Louis did it for him and walked to the other side of the car to get in. Harry buckles slowly, not wanting to mess anything up (as if buckling would do that). The desserts were securely held in his lap, because he couldn't dare manage a spill in this luxury vehicle. He tried to make himself comfortable in the leather seat, but didn't want to put his arm on the console between them. Just make yourself small, he told himself. He didn't want to ruin anything, and making himself small seemed like the right way to go.

Louis starts the car and takes off, which has Harry grinning to himself. It was just really cool riding in a car like this.

Louis reaches over to turn on the radio, and Harry had to stop himself from squealing, but a little noise did slip out that had Louis looking over at him.

"This is the song!" Harry happily says. He looks at Louis, who was squinting his eyes in thought and glancing at him. "This is Queen!"

"Oh!" Harry watches as the recognition settles onto his face. "Yeah, yeah. That. All right, all right." Louis starts nodding his head. "Ooh, like that bit. With the, uh, 'mama, ooh.' Right, yeah, this is cool."

Harry laughs and mouths along to the song, but couldn't help but sing it out when the second verse started in. He used his hands strangely, flailing them about, and then started to play an imaginary piano in the air, only to switch to the guitar when the chorus started back, and then the solo. Louis was laughing too hard, but then he widened his eyes when the song completely took a turn. Harry watched in fascination, wondering what he would think about the "strange" part. Louis, although surprised, seemed to really enjoy it. And when it was over, Louis turned down the radio and exhaled.

"That..." He stops and exhales again. "That took me on a ride."

Harry nods. "You liked it?"

"Hell yeah, that was really cool."

Harry smiles widely. "Did you know that—well, I don't know who exactly, but someone told them that the song was way too long and wouldn't do well on the radio's. Read that in a magazine somewhere. Now it's a bloody hit! Wonder what those people are saying now." Harry then laughs out of embarrassment and looks down at the package of desserts in his lap. He forgets to tone the excitement down when talking about the things he loves, and good music is something he loves. "I, uh. I quite like music."

"I can tell, yeah. Nothing wrong with that."

Harry breathes in deeply and watches the houses roll by, which slowly got larger and larger. Niall's dad is a doctor, so they're pretty well off. Harry's own family is okay in the money area, but not doing nearly as well as Niall's family. He really wonders what Louis did to have so much money, now that he knows all he does is film weddings and take pictures. His family is probably really rich, maybe. Maybe he's using their money. 

"Which house?" Louis asks as he slows the car down.

Harry points to the big house with the circle drive, and Louis nods and pulls into it. 

"My house really is next to his. Huh."

Harry laughs and unbuckles himself. He then turns in his seat and thanks Louis and Louis said it wasn't a problem. He motioned to his own house next to Niall's, saying that he needed another roll of film anyway, which made Harry feel a little better. At least he didn't drive all this way just to be nice.

"Thanks again," Harry says, smiling as he got out. He was about to shut the door but Louis leaned over to get his attention.

"Here when you need a ride, young Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes playfully. "I'm eighteen, mate, not so young."

"Right, right. Must've forgot. See you, young Harry!"

Harry pursed his lips unhappily and shut the door, waving as he walked up to Niall's doorstep, and knocked before entering. They've known each other since they were babies, no need to wait. He walked into the foyer and toed his shoes and jacket off, and then made his way to the kitchen, where he was sure Niall's mum would be cooking. 

"Oh, Harry, lovely to see you!" She greets with a big smile. She walks over to him to give a kiss on his cheek before tending to the pot on the stove. Harry loved Niall's mum. She was basically his second mother, and hearing her sweet Irish voice always made him feel a bit cozier.

"Brought some desserts from the bakery," he sweetly says as he places them on the counter. He looks around and rubs his hands together. "Need any help with anything, Mrs. Horan?"

"I know you just got off work, you probably want to lie down," she spoke, waving a wooden spoon in the air. 

Harry shook his head and walked over to her. "What do you need help with?"

She gave him a disapproving look, but Harry knew she wouldn't say no to him. Her husband was most likely at work (being a surgeon often keeps you from family meals), and Niall and Tracey definitely wouldn't help out. Niall can be pretty lazy, and Tracey, his younger sister, likes being in her own world unbothered. 

"Well," she sighs out, "would you mind cutting up that bread and putting it in the oven?"

Harry grins. "Not at all." So he took the bread that Niall had brought home and evenly cut it before putting it in a pan and sliding it into the oven. He grabbed the white timer from the stove and twisted it to the preferred time. 

"When did you get here?"

Harry turned around and watched Niall stroll in, sniffing the air. "Couple minutes ago," Harry replied.

"Right. When's supper ready?" He asks his mum.

"Soon," his mother says.

"You said that five minutes ago!" He says with a groan, but then turns to Harry. "Let's go play some football."

His mother let out a loud noise of disapproval. "You're not getting dirty before supper!"

Niall rolls his eyes. "Just kickin' back and forth!" he argues. "Swear."

She waves her spoon in the air, signaling a no. He rolls his eyes again and then mutters "fine" underneath his breath before telling Harry to follow him upstairs. Harry did so, but made sure she didn't need any help with anything else before trailing closely behind him. 

"Oh," squeaked Niall's little sister when she walked out of her room. She had a sparkly headband on and a long scarf around her neck. She was fifteen, and had always had a little crush on Harry. "Niall didn't tell me you were coming over."

There was music coming from her pink room; Harry stopped walking to talk to her. "Yeah, bit of a last minute thing. How's school going for you?"

"She's failing math," Niall mutters.

"Don't shout it out to the world, you dick!" She angrily says, face turning red. 

"Mr. Karrington can be an arse, though," Harry says, hopefully trying to make her feel better. "Bet it's because of him."

"That's what I'm always saying!" She says, relieved to have someone agree with her. 

Niall grabs at Harry's shirt. "Right. Go back to your hippie music, Tracey."

She groaned and walked into her room, slamming the door, and then they both walked into Niall's room. 

His room is white and pretty basic. His sheets are bright blue, though, and he had football trophies scattered across the shelves and on his dresser. Harry wished he could be as athletic as Niall, but that'd never happen.

He made himself comfortable on Niall's bed as he was messing around with the clothes on his floor. Harry assumed he was trying to clean a little, but all he was doing was kicking it into the corner of the room. Harry laughed. 

"Do you think Riley likes me?" Niall asks. He picks up his football from the floor and rolls it between his hands.

"Riley?" Harry questions. "That's not the girl from the other night."

"Yeah, I know. This girl is in my History class. She's always staring at me and comes to my games, so I just thought I'd ask her to the dance."

Harry shrugs. "You should go for it."

Niall nods, throwing the ball in the air, before sighing and taking a seat on the bed beside Harry. "Yeah. I should. Are you gonna ask anyone?"

"Probably not. Just hang with Liam, most likely. Get drunk."

Niall nods and then stands up to put his football away. "Yeah. Just don't get caught like that bloke last year."

Harry laughs and shakes his head. "He wasn't even subtle about sneaking in the alcohol!"

Niall laughs with Harry. "Then he—then he started flirting with the teachers. And remember when he broke the table when he fell on it?"

Harry snorts. "Poor guy."

Niall's laughter slowly died out, and they both turned their heads when Niall's mum called them down for supper. "And even Tracey's got a date, mate. Surely you can find someone."

———

Harry stayed for a few more hours after supper to play a few games of football with Niall. He lost both, obviously, but still had fun kicking the ball around with him. The cold air felt good against his face this time, as he's still hot from running around outside, and couldn't help but look at the house beside Niall's. Louis' house was the same size as Niall's: both two stories with a lot of windows and a circle driveway. Louis seemed to have a fountain in his yard, though. Harry shook his head in amazement and stared at the car in front of the house and wondered if it was lonely in there. He looked down at the desserts in his hand, the one Niall's mum had refused to keep after they had their helping of the pastries. 

He sighed to himself and walked on over, not really thinking much as he knocked in his door a few times. It didn't take long for Louis to answer.

"Uh," Harry starts, looking at Louis and then down at the small box in his hand. "Um, I brought desserts." He suddenly felt really stupid. Who would want pastries from a box that had been eaten out of? The ones in it were untouched, but he still felt dumb. 

"Did you?"

Harry looks up and rubs his lips together. Louis looks amused, but Harry chooses to ignore that. "It's chocolate. Uh, gave some to Niall's mum, but she said she shouldn't have it all. Do you want any? You don't have to take them, honestly. Just was on my way home and knew I wouldn't be eating them, so." He held them out. 

Louis takes them with a soft smile. "Thanks, Harry. That's very nice. Would you like to come in?"

Harry looks at the house behind Louis and notices it was kind of built like Niall's. "No, thanks," he says, then puts a strand of hair behind his ear. "Should get home before it gets too late."

"Hm," Louis hums. He eyes Harry with that intense look again. "Need a ride?"

Harry shakes his head. "I can walk. Feels nice out, so I'll be fine."

"All right, then," Louis sighs out. "If that's what you want. 'Cause it's really no trouble for me, y'know."

Harry grins. "Enjoy your pastries. Hope they're good," he sweetly spoke, walking away backwards. "Lovely home, by the way!"

Louis leans against his door. "Have a nice evening, Harry!" He shouts out to Harry when he kept walking.

Harry, smiling to himself, walked toward the road and in the direction of his home. Louis' quite nice. He'd like to know more about him; he's like this rich, mysterious guy that randomly turned up to his hometown. He wondered if his mum knew anything about him. She's always kept up with the gossip around town. 

When he got home he kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his jacket, said hello to his mum, and joined her on the sofa. 

"Have a good time at Niall's?" He nodded and took her glass of wine, sneaking a sip. She hit his shoulder. "Don't care if you're legal, that's mine!"

He exhaled a laugh and handed her the glass. "Yeah. There's this guy called Louis living next to him. Nice guy, he's come into the bakery a few times. Heard about him?"

His mother nods, to his relief. He was worried that she wouldn't have heard anything about him. But is it bad that there's even something to talk about when it came to him?

"Yeah. Young guy, huh? Heard his father died and he inherited a load of money. Could be mistaken, though. You know how those girls I talk to are."

Harry frowns. "That's sad."

Harry's dad walks in and sits in a recliner, eyes on the television.

"Good day, Harry?"

Harry nods. "Yeah."

"That's good."

Harry stands up and says that he was going to go take a shower, and then headed up the stairs and into his bedroom. He could hear Gemma's music playing from her room as he walked to his. For a moment he was tempted to walk into her room and question her about their father, but he refrained himself from doing so. 

Harry's dad is an okay guy, but they always argue. He thinks Harry should be making a man of himself and is upset with him for not having life figured out yet. Harry's upset with himself for the exact same thing, so he doesn't need his father getting angry with him about it. And he's annoyed that his dad will be gone for hours out of the day, for no reason. His mother says he's just out with his friends. Harry doesn't believe her.

He shuts the door behind him after entering his room, and locks it. His room is painted yellow. It's not an annoying yellow, he doesn't think. It's always been his favorite color, so why the hell not paint his room yellow? He falls onto his gray colored sheets and groans at himself. For a moment he just shuts off his brain. Just for a moment. He stares at the yellow walls in a daze. Every time he walks into his bedroom, he has this strange aching in his chest. It's like he's trapped in this lonely place, with that need to be more. He's eighteen now, and he's mad at himself for not turning out like he thought he would. 

He thought he'd have life figured out by now. 

He jumps when something hits his window. He leans up on his elbows, staring, but brushes it off, and lays back down. But then it happens again, and then once more, so he stands and looks out the window. 

"Oh my God," he mutters to himself. He opens the window and sticks his head out. "What the bloody hell do you want?" he asks in a quiet voice.

"Come down!" Liam says, his hands cupped around his mouth. His voice was just as quiet. 

"Mum wouldn't let me leave, Lia—Niall? What's going on here?"

Niall walks over to Liam and waves for Harry to come down. 

"How!" He shouts, then quiets his voice. "How?" He repeats, this time much quieter.

Liam motions to the ledge outside his window, and then acted out jumping movements. Harry's mouth opens in shock. He shakes his head. Liam angrily looks at him and nodded.

Harry sighs and turns around, walks over to the light in his room, and turns it off. The fan he uses to cancel out noise beside his bed was flipped on so that his mum would think he was sleeping if she came creeping up. He walks back to the window and swears repeatedly, climbing out and walking to the edge.

"Tell me why I'm doing this!" He looks down at them, doubting this majorly. 

"Just jump!" Niall says.

Harry glares at him. The drop wasn't that far, really, but it felt like it. He sat down and let his legs dangle off the side, and then sighed. He swore again. He looked down and breathed in and out deeply, before pushing himself off on the count of three and then landing on the ground. His clumsy self lost balance and fell to the ground on impact; he groaned and rolled over in the grass.

"Tell me why the fuck I just did that, please," he groans out, taking both Niall's and Liam's hands when they offered to pull him up. He stands up and wipes the dirt from his body.

"I'm gonna talk to Olivia," Liam says.

Harry inhales slowly, turns to Liam, and then angrily grabs the collar of his shirt with both of his hands. "I nearly died for that!"

Liam swatted his hands away and shoved him back. "Oh, it was barely a jump!" Liam shouts back, fixing his shirt. "Gonna ask her to the dance, and you're gonna help."

Harry ran a hand through his hair and then rolled his eyes. "We all know you're going to wimp out of whatever you've got planned."

Niall shrugged. "Dunno, man. It's a pretty good plan."

"Yeah, well. It better be!" He looks at the place he had jumped from. "How am I supposed to climb back up there?"

Niall put a hand on his shoulder. "Gonna have to figure that one out yourself, mate."


	4. 3.

Harry was pulling leaves out of his hair when they walked to the road. He didn't know what to expect. Maybe Liam's dad's car, but when he saw the both of them pick up bicycles from the ground, Harry laughed out of ridiculousness.

Liam glared at him. "What?"

"Are those the ones from when we were thirteen?" Harry asks, motioning to the bikes.

Niall, on his bike, walked beside Harry. "Just get on your old one, mate."

Harry moves his hair out of his eyes. "Sold it when I was sixteen, remember?" Liam looks defeated for a moment, but something behind Harry caught his eye. Harry followed his gaze and turns back to Liam quickly, shaking his head. "No." 

———

Harry, with his lips firmly pressed together, rode down the street on his sisters baby pink bicycle. The stickers on the basket only made it the more girly. Niall happily sped up beside him and rung the bell on his bike. Harry flipped him off and was thankful that it's dark out.

The air, seemingly colder than it has been, turns Harry's face numb and makes his eyes water. He hadn't thought of bringing a jacket, because his dumb friends wouldn't tell him what was happening until he jumped off his bloody house. 

"I think I deserve to know the plan," Harry says, peddling up to Liam's speed. His brows were drawn in and the worry written all over his face made him appear older.

"Uh," Liam mumbles, looking over at Harry. "I'm gonna go to her window and ask her to go to the dance with me."

"Romantic!" Niall shouts from behind them. He was breathing heavily.

"Please tell me that's not it," Harry says, jaw clenched. "This is the solid-proof plan? What the fu—"

"It's the best I can do under the circumstances!" shouts Liam.

"Under what circumstances!" Harry shouts back.

"My stupid brain!" Liam says, voice still raised. 

Harry shakes his head and brakes, stopping beside the road and getting off. Liam and Niall stop, asking Harry what he was doing. He bent down to the ground and started picking flowers, shaking his head out of frustration with how this is all happening, until he had a decent bouquet of whatever was growing from the ground—or what could grow from the cold weather. He bundled it all together and put it in the girly sticker-covered basket on the bike. He got back on it, and pushed himself over to Liam and Niall with a glare.

"Can't believe you thought it'd be okay to show up empty handed during this," he disapprovingly says to Liam. "You're asking her to a bloody dance." 

Liam nods slowly, still looking as though he was drowning in his thoughts, but he thanks Harry anyway. They continued their lame adventure to Olivia's house, and Harry was tempted to ask Liam to walk him through what he was going to say, but he felt as though he had shaken Liam's confidence enough. It wasn't long before they reached her house; Liam was mumbling to himself when he got off his bike and propped it against a tree. Niall and Harry mirrored his actions.

"Here you go," Harry says, patting Liam's back while handing him the flowers. "Good luck."

"Which window's hers?" Niall asks, looking at all the windows. "How would you even know?"

"I, uh... Um. We need to jump the fence," Liam quickly says as he walks over to the wooden fence.

"I've done enough jumping, thanks," says Harry. "Not trespassing tonight!"

Liam gave him a stern look. "C'mon, I need you guys. For support."

"Over the fence?" Niall asks, but he looked amused by this whole situation. "You just have to tell me why you know what window is hers from her backyard after this, ya creep."

"Deal," Liam says. They both look at Harry.

He rolls his eyes and runs his hands up and down his arms. "Let's just hurry, I'm freezing."

They both smile and turn to walk to the fence. Liam held onto the top of the wooden fence, squishing some of the flowers, and then he hoisted himself up, only to slip when his feet had nothing to grip onto. Niall gladly walked over and bent down, offering a knee, and helped Liam over the fence. Niall expectantly turned to Harry for help getting over, and he groaned and bent down to help Niall over the fence. When they were both over, Harry stood up and peered over.

"Now what about me?"

"You're the tallest, it should be easy!" Liam says, sounding annoyed.

Harry starts swearing silently at Liam as he grips the top of the wooden fence and hops up, pulling himself as far as he could, before swinging a leg up to the top of the fence. With his now steady grip and foot placement, it was easy for him to tumble off to the other side, but he was still annoyed at them. 

Liam gave him a thumbs up and looked up to inspect the windows, walking further into the backyard. Harry stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around at the backyard. There was a football, and some other things that made him certain that Olivia had a little brother. Liam had found a rock when Harry turned back, and proceeded to throw it lightly at a window, but it missed. He swore underneath his breath and found another rock, threw it, and missed again. Niall snorted. Liam flipped him off, then tried again, and this time, he was successful—only no one came to the window. So he did it again. And again. Until the curtains moved away from the window and a blonde-headed girl stuck her head out.

"What is this?" She asks in a whisper, staring at Liam, Harry, and Niall.

Harry grabs Niall and moves away from Liam so that he could have a private moment.

"Uh," Liam starts, holding up flowers. Harry looks up to the girl. She seemed to be holding back a smile, which is definitely a good sign. "Hi, Olivia, um... Look, we've barely spoken to each other and that's my fault, because I'm intimidated by beautiful women, such as yourself, so, uh." He stops and looks down for a moment, and then he looks back up to Olivia. "I think you're so lovely, and I just... Was wondering if you liked dances? The Fall dance, that is. And if you wanted to come with me."

Olivia giggles. "How do you expect me to get those flowers in your hand?" 

Harry knew Liam was blushing. "I don't..." He trailed off, then looked at the tree beside her window. And to Harry's surprise, he started to climb it. With struggle. He would take long pauses before continuing, and slowly, he reached Olivia's window and shakily held out the flowers. "Th-there."

She laughed again and grabbed the flowers, looking amazed. "Liam, I didn't know you were such a romantic! I'd love to go to the dance with you." She turned her head around towards inside of her room, before quickly turning to face Liam again. "I think I heard someone. I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?" The window was closed, the curtains were drawn, and Liam was hanging from the tree in shock.

"Liam!" Harry hisses out, walking over to the tree. "Let's go before we get caught!"

Liam looks down at them and nods, but doesn't move. He still looks shocked.

"Mate, let's go," Niall whispers up to him. 

Liam looked suddenly terrified of being so far away from the ground. He gripped the tree even tighter. But slowly, he started climbing down. He seemed to have it, even with his worry glances to the ground, but then he lost his footing and fell right to the ground with a thud and a loud groan. Harry immediately went over to him and pulled him up.

"Right. You're fine, you're fine. Now you know what it feels like," Harry said to him, keeping him steady until he was sure Liam was okay.

Liam gave him a look, but rubbed his back and walked with them to the fence. They both helped him over this time, and then Harry helped Niall, and then Harry climbed over himself. They were quick to get back on their bikes, and Liam now looked like he was on a high, the pain from his back apparently not bothering him. He smiled widely and looked at them both. 

"I did it!" He happily says.

Harry smiles. "Thank God."

Even though Harry spent most of the night annoyed with his friends, he really is proud of Liam for doing something he never expected him to do. Liam had always pined after different girls and never did anything about it. They'd always tease him for it, too. Liam got the girl, though. Surprisingly. Harry doesn't know how he did it, to be honest, but he did. 

They reached the street where they knew they should part to get home, so they stopped and looked around for cars, before saying goodbye. 

"Proud of you, mate," Harry says to Liam, who was grinning happily. 

"Now you both should find some ladies!" He shouts over his shoulder as he peddled away.

Niall looks at Harry. "If that bloke can ask a girl to the dance, then I sure as hell can."

Harry blew out air from his mouth. "Looks like I'm gonna be the single man."

"You can find someone, mate. Just got to get over that loner thing you've got goin' on."

Harry laughs humorlessly. Loner thing? He didn't know he had a loner thing. "Um, sure. See you tomorrow."

They parted ways and Harry traveled down the street. Did Liam think he had a "loner" thing, too? He'd never heard of anything like this. He knew he never shared interest in things they had, such as the pining-after-girls thing. Frankly, he never understood it in the first place. The people they'd be obsessed with seemed so ordinary and never attracted Harry in any way, even if they were pretty. But that's all they'd ever be: pretty. He shrugged this whole thing off; he just hasn't found the one yet, and that's why no one's interested him. 

He won't admit that he's always been frustrated with himself, though. He's eighteen and has never been with a girl or kissed one. He does want someone, he always has, but he just doesn't like anyone. It makes him feel left out, because he always sees couples at the diner, at school—and he doesn't have that. 

He huffs when he reaches his house, and again when he put the bicycle up. He walks over to his window and eyes the ledge from where he jumped off from, and huffs once more. The front door would be locked. And there's no way he could get up on that ledge again.

"Ooh, what do we have here?"

Harry turns around with wide eyes. "What? Gem, what're you doing?"

She laughs and rolls her eyes. "Harry, I do this every night."

He scratches his head. "What?" He repeats. 

She pulls out a key from her back pocket. "Swiped mum's and made an extra a couple of months ago," she confesses with a smile. "Was wondering what happened to my bicycle tonight."

"Where do you go?" Harry asks, following her to the front of the house. He couldn't believe this. 

"'Round town to hang out with friends mum wouldn't approve of."

Harry, shocked from this news, watches as she unlocks the front door as quietly as possible. "How come you've never told me?"

Gemma stops and turns to look at him. "Mum's favorite? Why would I risk that?"

Harry gapes and searches for words. "I'm not a tattle," he says, offended.

"Yeah? Where were you tonight?" She asks and then pushes open the door. She takes off her jacket and he only now realized what she's been wearing. Jean shorts with frayed hems and a tight, cropped shirt with a blue tie-dye design on it.

"Uh, Liam. And Niall. Liam went to ask a girl to a dance and wanted me for moral support." He looks at her white boots that stop at her shins. "How do you wear that out in the cold?"

She walks into the kitchen and pours herself a cup of water, then raises a brow at Harry. "Don't act like mum, Harry."

"I don't have anything against what you're wearing!" he defends. "Just shocked. Never seen you wear it before."

"Mum wouldn't let me walk out the house like this, that's why. Nearly twenty and she still treats me like a baby," she scoffs. She put the cup in the sink and walks past Harry. 

He follows her into her room. He had a lot of questions; he only now heard of her secret life she's had. "What people do you hang with at this time of night?" Harry asks, sitting down on her bed. He's aware he sounds like a parent, but that wasn't his intention. He's just very curious.

She sighs. "Know Mike?"

Harry's mouth opens once again. If it's the Mike he thinks she's talking about, then it's certainly a surprise. He's basically the town troublemaker. He lives in a house that's falling apart and hangs around terrible people, and supposedly sales drugs for a living. He drives around on a motorcycle like he's the coolest, baddest guy there ever was, which Harry has always found annoying. 

"You know he picks fights with fifteen-year-old's, right?" Harry says, frowning.

"Oh, Harry! Don't give me that look! I know you've smoked a few joints. Know Niall definitely does, because Mike's his dealer!" Gemma says with an edge to her voice.

Harry puts his hands up. "I'm not judging! I just... Look, just be careful, all right? And, hang on, how do you know that about me?"

She juts her hip out and rolls her eyes. "You're not too great at hiding it when you've done it, y'know. Coming home in a daze, red eyes, completely out of it. Mum's been oblivious every time, because you're her favorite. She wouldn't dare accuse you of such a thing."

Harry flushes, finding it a little embarrassing that he'd been caught. "Only twice I've done it. Won't be doing it again, though! Don't like the taste of it."

She laughs and motions him off her bed. "I'm not mad at you. I don't give a shit about what you're up to, couldn't be any worse than the things I've done."

Harry gives her a worried look as he got off the bed.

"Don't look at me like that," she scowls. "I know how to handle myself. I'm just a free spirit, is all. Now go. I'm tired."

He inhaled deeply and headed for the door. He paused, said goodnight, and then shut the door behind him and walked to his own room, only to remember that he stupidly locked his door from the inside. He swore at himself and hit his forehead against the door out of frustration, and then made his way downstairs to make himself as comfortable as he could on the couch. 

———

He woke up with his confused mother badgering him with questions about why he was sleeping on the couch. When he explained that he had accidentally locked himself out of his room, she sighed and gave him a look that said it was the dumbest thing she'd ever heard. But somehow, with a hair pin, she had unlocked his door and told him to be more careful next time. So he got a shower, threw on some clean clothes, walked to school, and met with Liam and Niall after the first class.

"She said that she really likes me!" Liam told them as he clutched his books to his chest. He's just beaming. "And couldn't wait for the dance, and that we should eat lunch together to talk about it."

"Don't turn into a girl, now," Niall says, with a wide smile on his face.

Harry's happy for Liam. He's glad that he's finally got a girl he'd been pining over for a while. They parted ways again and he thought about how this might change things for them. Niall's been with Harry since birth, because their parents have always been close friends, and then Liam moved into town in Year Two, and then their friendship began. For years it's been the three of them; they've done everything together. Harry can understand that this will take Liam away from them, but he still felt a little saddened by it. Especially since they're going to graduate soon and this will be the time they should spend closest to one another before everyone heads off to Uni.

And thinking about University stresses him out immensely. What the hell is he supposed to do with his life? The only thing that interests him is music, but he doesn't know how to read music notes or play it. He doesn't even know what he'd do if he went into music. What could he do to make money in that? He shoved the thoughts out of his brain before that feeling came back. The feeling of his heart giving out and his lungs collapsing.

So he sat in class, tried to absorb what he could, but it just wouldn't stick to him. He found himself staring out of the windows and daydreaming about a life where he could play music, and was really good at it, and could write songs and sing them, and somehow a producer would hear him and everything would work out. He'd be living an amazing life and everyone would know him as being this incredible guy from a small town that made it. 

But the bell rung and his dreams fizzled away, and reality hit him. He walked down the halls after classes, eyes down, and his heart in his stomach. He hates everything about living like this. 

Lunch zoomed by with just he and Niall at their regular table, Liam of course with Olivia discussing their dance plans, and Niall talking about what new girl he was into and wanting to ask to the dance. Harry told him to go for it, and Niall must have sensed his interest was elsewhere, because he dropped the subject.

The rest of day went by faster, and when school was out, they said their goodbye's, and Harry made his way to the bakery. He'd get his homework out of the way there because he knew it wouldn't be busy, so he didn't mind working right after school. Plus there's money involved. What little money he does make he saves; he doesn't know what for, though. 

There weren't any customers there when he entered and relieved Gemma from her duties, who threw a peace sign in his direction, put on her round sunglasses, and left with a smile on her face. He made himself comfortable behind the counter and pulled out a textbook to skim through. 

He doesn't know why, but he found himself looking out the window and waiting for Louis to turn up. He liked talking to him. Louis' cool and a pleasure to be around, and he usually shows up when Harry was on the job, so he expected him to today. But as the day started to end, he gave up on that idea, even though there was a feeling in his gut that he was still going to run up and ask for a coffee. The feeling went away when he locked up the bakery, his school bag slung over his shoulder, and the sun now setting. He felt annoyed that another uneventful day went by before he knew it, and walked home in a much slower pace. Although he often gets that "trapped" feeling, it worsens when he gets home at the end of a day, because he knows nothing else will happen and that he'll just have to stay in his room for the rest of the evening doing nothing. 

That is until he walked through the door and found an unexpected guest in the kitchen with his mum. 

He gulped and tightened his hand around his school bag strap, staring at his mum in confusion, before looking at the young man with soft hair and blue eyes.

"Harry!" she happily greets, pulling something in a casserole dish out of the oven.

"Hi," he mutters, flushing when she walked over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"How was school?" she asks, acting as if it was normal to find someone they barely knew in their kitchen.

"Same as usual," he mutters. He rubs his lips together.

She smiles and looks at him after putting the dish on the table, and then looks at Louis. "Oh! This is Louis, Harry!"

Harry leans over and shakes Louis' outstretched hand. "I know. We've met."

"Have you?" she questions, the smile never leaving her lips. "Oh! Right, you have. Forgot. He volunteered to help with your dance. He offered to put a lovely little film together and do pictures! So I invited him over for a proper welcome."

Harry rubs the tip of his nose. It's a habit. "Really?" he asks Louis, who only shrugged. "That's—"

"Please don't say groovy," his mother interjected. 

Harry flushes and shakes his head. "Mum," he groans out. He looks at Louis and smiles awkwardly.

"Wanna give him a tour, sweetie?"

"I'd love one," Louis says with a wide smile, wiggling his brows at Harry.

Harry pokes the inside of his mouth with his tongue and nods, motioning Louis to follow him with a shake of his head. Louis did and joined him as he walked into the living room. "This is where we watch television," he simply says, and then walks to the back of the house where his father would sit and smoke a cigar near all of his books. "My fathers library," he spoke, still using that uninterested voice. The "library" was just the corner in the back of the house that held a desk and two bookshelves at the sides of it. It had a window and a view of the small backyard, so it wasn't a bad spot to read a book. "Mum and dad's room," he plainly said after walking him through the hall. He then walked him over to the stairs and headed up them, motioning to Gemma's room when they entered the hall. "My sisters room. She's a protester, wouldn't pick an argument with her." He points to a bathroom when he reaches it, tells him what it is, and then walks over to his bedroom. "My room."

Louis walks in without another thought. 

Harry follows, pulls off his bag, and then tosses it on the bed. Louis was admiring his records when Harry cleared his throat. He turned with a wide smile and put his hands behind his back.

"Very yellow," Louis noted.

Harry shrugs. "I like yellow," he quietly says. 

Louis seemed to smile wider. "And quite the record collection you've got," he says as he motioned to it. 

Harry perked up at that. He walks over to where his records were neatly stacked and started digging through them. "Wanna listen to something? I've got Neil Young. I love him."

Louis stares at Harry and nods before walking around his room again. Harry doesn't mind. He pulls the record from the sleeve and delicately places it into the record player. When the music starts to fill the room, his shoulders seem to relax. He hums along to the beat and goes to sit on his bed. 

"Sorry for snooping," Louis says, but didn't seem sorry at all as he continued to look at Harry's things.

"It's fine," he says. Then he told him about how he accidentally locked himself out of his room the night before just to make conversation. 

"How do you manage a thing like that?" Louis asks, staring at Harry once again.

"First you need stupidity, and second, you need idiocy. Two completely different things I've learned in my eighteen years of living."

"Oh, young Harry," he says, amused. Harry scowled. "You and your yellow walls."

"What's my yellow walls got to do with anything?" Harry asks, defending his walls. "Love my walls, thank you very much. You can kindly leave if you've got a problem with them!"

Louis laughs and puts his hands up defensively. "Only teasing!"

"And I'm not young."

"I'm five years older than you. You're young to me."

Harry bit on his lower lip, brows drawn in thought as he tried to think of something to say. He couldn't, so he resorted to huffing and letting the music fill the silence. 

"Excited for the dance?" Louis asks. He walks over to the pictures on his desk and stares at them.

"Not really my thing," Harry grumbles unhappily. "But I decided to go since it's my last fall dance, and I need to experience it all, I think."

Louis hums and picks up a picture to stare at it more closely. "What's your plans after?"

Harry scrunches up his nose. Louis looks at him when he says nothing and puts the picture down. "Not sure." 

"I didn't know either when I was your age," he says. 

Harry perks up at this, highly interested to see what Louis has to say. "Yeah?"

"Mhm. Parents were very annoyed by it. Went in to to be a lawyer, the family business, but ended up dropping out and working to save up for cameras and such. They were devastated."

"Not devastated anymore?" Harry asks, wanting to know if the rumors about him were true. Which wasn't a very nice thing, but he couldn't help himself. 

Louis' smile falters but he kept the smile there nonetheless. He motions to the spot on the bed beside Harry, raising his brows, and Harry nods. Louis sits down beside him and Harry only now realized that he smells like an Oak-y cologne. Harry loves that smell. 

"Not anymore, no. My parents got divorced when I was a kid and I haven't talked to my mother since. Dad passed away three years ago. So I'd say they don't really care what I do now," Louis says, forcing a smile. 

Harry frowns and looks down at his hands. That's something huge, something you wouldn't tell someone you barely know. Harry wonders why Louis felt the need to share something so personal and sad. Maybe he's just a really honest guy, and that's just brave of him to do. Harry reaches up and pats Louis' shoulder. 

"I'm sorry," Harry says, because he didn't really know what else to say. 

"Oh, young Harry," Louis sighs out a laugh. "Nothing to be sorry for. You didn't do anything. Now, those pastries you gave me... You made them yourself?" He asks and stands up again, this time walking toward the door. Harry stands up as well.

"Yes, sir, all me. Mum's recipe, though," Harry says, making sure to add the last part. It felt wrong if he took the credit for cooking it when what made it good was his mother's talent.

Louis stares at him for a moment, one brow raised, his mouth open as if he was about to say something, but then he ran a finger over his lower lip and closes his mouth. "Your mother probably needs help now, I should ask if there's anything I can do."

Harry nods and follows Louis out of his room and down the stairs to reach his mum in the kitchen. After Louis asks if she needed anything, she politely said no, and then told Harry to prep the dessert. He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes in on Louis, who only grinned widely and watched Harry go to the fridge to pull out some fruit. 

"Smells lovely, Mrs. Styles," Louis kindly says. 

Harry grabbed a knife after washing the strawberries off and then proceeded to cut them up as nicely as he could. When this started he heard the front door slam shut and heels clack against the floor in a stomping sound. Harry looked over his shoulder to see Gemma wearing a long baby pink dress with the neck dipped lowly. The belt tied around her waist looked like flowers, but even though Harry found the dress incredibly pretty, the look on her face wasn't. 

"Men are disgusting. I'm going to be a lesbian," she says, straight-faced, and not acknowledging the company in the kitchen.

Harry's mother's eyes widen so much that it terrified him. She was setting the table when Gemma marched in and announced her new change of who attracts her. His mother set down the plate with a clenched jaw and gave Louis an apologetic smile before she stomped over to her daughter and gripped her tightly on the arm to walk her upstairs. Harry didn't wish to overhear the conversation they were having, so he went back to cutting up the strawberries.

"That's your sister, I take it?" Louis asks. 

Harry couldn't help but smile. "Yeah. That's her."


	5. 4.

When dinner began without Gemma, Harry decided that it was best to act like nothing had happened at all. It's what his mother and Louis did, so he played along. But he was definitely going to ask Gemma about it later. 

"So, Louis, tell me more about yourself," his mother smiles out.

Louis took a sip from his wine and then looked at Anne with a kind smile. "Well, I've been doing photography and films for a good while, ever since I was barely a teenager. But I've improved since then, believe me."

They all laugh and Harry gets up to check on the strawberry pie in the oven. It looks fine, so he sits back down again and messes with his food absentmindedly. 

"So you both know each other?" Harry's mother asks them, gesturing her fork between the two.

"He comes into the bakery sometimes," Harry says. He was glad his mother played it off like she didn't know. He would've been embarrassed if she mentioned Harry questioning her about Louis.

Louis nods. "It's a lovely place to go for relaxing. You've got a wonderful bakery."

Anne grins and waves a hand. "Oh, you're so kind. The school committee is definitely going to love you. We've never had someone film a dance before! It will be so beautiful."

Louis widely smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. His smile is bright and all teeth, and it's wonderful, really. "Thank you, I hope so."

The evening had light chatter about little things without much significant meaning, but Harry's mother seemed to really enjoy everything there is to Louis Tomlinson. Harry does, too. 

His dad hadn't showed up at all, even when they all went into the living room for a more chilled back hang out. Louis made his mother laugh a lot; he's just so witty and mature at the same time. Harry just doesn't know how he does it. Maybe when he's older he will—when he's smart yet very humorous. But he knows that if he doesn't really have that at eighteen, he doesn't think he will at twenty-three. It was somewhere around eleven when Louis said that he should be on his way, and his mother stood up, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and said good-bye when he went for the door. 

Harry caught the door when it was about to close and stepped outside. Louis watched him with a look of intrigue, eyes curious and light. He shut the front door, crossed his arms, and shivered.

"You're an excellent dessert-maker," Louis says. 

Harry smiles so wide his dimples hurt. He's sure his cheeks were pinking, but he could always blame that on the cold air. "Thank you," he quietly says. He tilts his head and stares at Louis. "Mum seems to like you."

Louis laughs; his breath hangs in the cold air like a cloud. "Yeah, yeah," he spoke with a nod, shoving his hands in his pockets. "She's very sweet."

Harry nods along and moves down the steps to get closer to him. "You're funny. I'm jealous." A slight pout takes over his bottom lip.

Louis laughs loudly this time, his head tilting back a little bit, and feathery hair sitting perfectly on his head whilst it's nodded back. His skin looks pale in the colder weather, which makes his eyes stand out even more. Harry doesn't think he's seen eyes so blue before. Because it's not just a basic light or dark blue, but the color of clean ocean waters. Harry has to force himself to look away from the sea that lives within his eyes.

"Oh, young Harry," Louis says with a wide smile. "Being funny isn't everything."

Harry scoffs and bows his head, the tip of his shoe toeing at the ground pointlessly. "It's a useful thing to have, though. But, uh, hopefully that wasn't so crazy of an evening for you."

Louis shakes his head. "No, it was lovely. Your sister is quite something."

Harry scrunches his nose and looks up. He didn't know if Louis meant that in a good or bad way, but his features remained light. Happy. Care-free. So maybe he didn't care. "I don't know what's up with her. I'm sorry about that."

"No, no, it's fine. She honestly seems great," Louis says.

Harry raises a brow and purses his lips. He's not sure he ever thought of his sister as that, but he can understand why others would. She's always so outspoken and not afraid of anything; it's a quality he wishes to have. So he nods in agreement and wonders why he even stepped out to talk to Louis. He didn't really have anything in mind to talk about. And Louis was doing that intent staring thing again that made Harry shift his feet; he looks down and laces his fingers together, and then he unintentionally shivers. Louis put his hand on Harry's elbow. He looks up and searches the cerulean eyes that linger on him, wondering why Louis' touch is currently fizzling out all the coherent thoughts in his mind.

"You should go inside now before you get a cold," he says, squeezing his elbow before dropping his hand. 

"I'll walk you to your car," he persists. He doesn't know why.

Louis smiles anyway (a soft one that barely tugs his lips upward) and together they walk to Louis' very nice car. "So I'll most likely see you in the bakery. And then the dance. Think we'll be seeing a lot of each other, Harry."

Harry nods in thought. When Louis opens his car door, he moves to stand in front of it and places his arms on top of the door. "Maybe I can be one of your models," he dramatically says, putting a dreamy look on his face. But then he laughs unattractively and shakes his head. "If you even do that stuff."

Louis narrows his eyes in on Harry. It's intimidating, so he has to look at the space between his brows. "No, I do it. My specialty is just capturing the moment. No, wait, it's just what I like to photograph. I like the realism of taking a photo of someone just... reading. Or walking. Or laughing."

Harry smiles a closed-mouthed smile. "That's totally groovy."

Louis makes a face and puts his arms on top of Harry's. "Hate that word."

Harry moves his arms from underneath Louis' and puts them on top of his. "Had a feeling."

Louis repeats Harry's actions. "Did you?"

Harry tries moving his arms out from underneath Louis' again, but Louis was pressing his arms so firmly against Harry's that he couldn't move them. He stares at Louis and makes a sad face of defeat. "You chump."

"Well, that's not any way to talk to a superior," Louis playfully scowls.

Harry gasps. "Superior?"

"Elderly?" Louis asks, tilting his head up in thought. "Adult? Any of those would probably suit better. Hasn't anyone taught you to respect the elderly?"

Harry laughs and relaxes his arms. Louis' arms were surprisingly warm atop his. "You're not old, Mr. Tomlinson."

"Shouldn't have mentioned my last name in front of you," Louis says with a shake of his head. He puts his chin on top of his arm, which makes his face really close to Harry's now. He can see the green flecks in his blue eyes, and that makes him think of a shimmering ocean which reflects the sun's light against rippling water. "Call me Louis."

"And call me Harry!" 

"Oh, young Harry," Louis tutted. 

"Mr. Tomlinson," Harry whispers, leaning a little bit closer. Their noses were nearly touching. 

"I'm still going to call you Young Harry," Louis whispers back.

Harry holds back a smile and then pulls away. Louis' arms weren't so heavy on top of Harry's suddenly, so he was able to pull them free. "Yes, sir."

Louis breathes out a laugh and bit at the corner of his lower lip. "Are you saying that to mock my age?"

Harry didn't even realize it. He just knew that Louis was older, and he was raised to say that to an adult out of respect. It was just a silly habit. No, no. Sorry."

"'Cause if not," Louis says, seeming as if he hadn't heard Harry, "Then good."

Harry furrows his brows in confusion, but Louis just laughs to himself and tells Harry to have a good night. 

"You as well," he replies. Louis gets in his car and drives off with a squeal of his tires. Harry just feels so flushed and weird when he walked into the house and headed up the stairs. He never really had a strange feeling like that when he was alone with Louis in the bakery. Although, he did yearn for his company sometimes. It made work go by faster, what can he say?

He was drawn out of his thoughts when he saw Gemma's door, and then remembered what she had spoken earlier that night. He lightly knocked on the door and waited for it to open.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," she angrily says as she threw the door open. Then she saw it was only Harry, and her features instantly softened. "Oh. Thought you were mum. What's up? Need my bicycle again?" She asks, leaning against her door with a smirk now plastered on her lips.

Harry shakes his head. "Was wondering what happened earlier. You okay?"

She looks him up and down, her features hard and unreadable, but then she opens the door even further. Harry walks in and turns to her when the door shuts behind him. 

"Mike had a threesome."

Harry looks away from her in disgust. He doesn't want to hear about his sister having a threesome!

"Without me."

He looks at her with a look of shock on his face, but then he curls his lip in anger and violently shakes his head. "I'll kill him."

Gemma rolls her eyes. "No, you won't. Chill out. It just got me thinking about how girls don't treat you like a putz, y'know? Women are kind and gentle."

Harry scrunches his brows together in thought. These emotions he just went through in under thirty seconds made his head hurt. "So you are...gay?"

She huffs and flings herself down on her bed. "I don't think so. Girls are lovely, don't get me wrong, but a dick excites me and pussy doesn't."

Harry puts his hands over his ears. "I don't really want to hear this."

She pulls herself up in a sitting position and shrugs. "But you feel me. You like pussy, so you couldn't change it even if you wanted."

Harry shrugs and sits down on her bed slowly, trying to get the word pussy out of his head. "Reckon that's how it is for the people attracted to the same gender."

"Obviously, dipshit," she laughs out. "Haven't you been with a girl, Harry? You're eighteen, so I always assumed."

Harry looks down at her sheets and then runs a thumb over a seam in her quilt. "No. Girls weird me out."

"You sound like a thirteen-year-old," she snorts.

"What did mum say to you? When you came home and announced your lesbianism?"

She rolls her eyes again. "She told me never to say something so foul again. Twat."

Harry couldn't meet her eyes. "She-she said that?" he quietly asks. 

Gemma was quiet. Harry looked up to see her staring at him, which made him turn away quickly. "I'm sorry," she quietly says. "Wish I could say she didn't."

It was like Gemma understood something he didn't when she said it like that. Why did she apologize? Harry only nodded and tried to not to seem bothered by it. He never really heard his mother say things so negative about something before. She's always so kind and understanding. They've never discussed being gay, of course. He knows people don't accept it. People condemn others for being gay—threaten them. It's not allowed, and if anyone in town announced that they were gay, they'd most likely be run off. Or forced to stay in a church until their mindset had changed. He doesn't get why it's such a big deal, really; but he's also never really tried to think about it too much. 

"Harry, you know you can talk to me. 'Bout anything."

He looks at her with a confused expression. "I know. Why're you telling me this, though?"

She smiles softly. "Just thought I'd remind you. Right, now leave. That's enough bonding for the year."

Harry stands up and runs a hand through his long hair. "You can talk to me too," he says to her. Then he opens the door and leaves for his room.

———

"Olivia is so soft," Liam dreamily spoke. 

Niall looked like he was about to laugh when he turned to look at Harry. 

"I didn't know girls had such soft skin."

Harry snorts. "Liam, you okay?" They were all eating lunch together, surprisingly. Liam was now starting to eat with Olivia at lunch, but today he sat with them and just decided to talk about her instead.

"I'm great, Harry. We should find you someone. Girls are so lovely," he says with a dreamy smile again. He turns to Niall in a daze.

"Did something happen that we don't know about?" Niall asks.

Liam nods. "Yeah. We kissed. It was amazing."

Liam went on to say that they had kissed during their free period earlier in the day against a tree. He kept saying that it was the loveliest thing he'd ever experienced. Liam isn't the kind of guy to say lovely, so it must have been pretty damn lovely. 

"Harry?"

He straightens up and turns. Mrs. Anderson, their drama teacher, was standing with a tight smile. She's very loud and doesn't have a filter, something he always admired about her, but he never did anything involving theater, so he's quite perplexed about why she'd want to speak with him at lunch. 

"Yes, ma'am?" 

"I was wondering, since the dance is this coming up soon, if you could show Mr. Tomlinson where all of the equipment he'd need will be? I know you and your mother know him quite well, so I figured it'd be nice for him."

Harry nods, but didn't really understand what he was agreeing to.

"Marvelous!" She loudly says with a clap of her hands. "Thank you. He'll be here at one, so right after you're done here. Who do you have at that time? I'll excuse you from their class."

Niall huffs unhappily beside him. "Mr. Porter," he replies.

She smiles widely and pats his shoulder. "Great. Thank you for doing this, Harry. Just make your way to the gym after lunch."

Harry nods and watches her walk off before turning to his friends, who didn't seem so pleased with him. "What?" he asks them.

"I want to get out of Mr. Porter's class! I hate math," Niall grumbles unhappily. Liam agrees with a nod. 

"Isn't my fault! Someone's gotta show Louis—Mr. Tomlinson—where the...the stuff is at," he defends. 

Liam opens his mouth to complain, but Harry stands with his tray in hand and smiles widely. "Best go now. Don't want to be late," he says to them and then walks off. He dumps his food, puts his tray up, and makes his way to the gym.

He kept forgetting that the dance was coming up so soon. He hasn't even bought a suit yet. He thinks about just wearing his best pair of jeans and a nice shirt, but he knew his mum wouldn't allow that because she'd want pictures of the dance. It's not even that big of a deal, the fall dance. Isn't prom the most important in a senior's life?

He walks into the gym and knew he was way too early, so he just moved over to the bleachers to take a seat. He pulled out some of his school work from his bag and thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to get a jump-start on his homework, so he sat there for who knows how long, and started in on some paper he had to write about being a senior and moving on to greater things. It wasn't great for him, to be honest. He wants to do great things but knows he will never be able to because he's so terribly ordinary. He's sure he's going to have an existential crisis. 

"Young Harry!"

Harry jumps. His notebook falls out of his hand and his pencil went flying into the air. He stood up quickly, flustered, and forgot he had a textbook on his lap. It slid to the floor and he swore underneath his breath as he bent down to pick everything up. Louis walks over to him with the pencil in his hand and handed it over.

"You scared me," he gently says. He put his things in his school bag and then hopped off the bleachers. "I'm supposed to show you things."

Louis bit back a smile. He was wearing a black shirt this time instead of a white one. "Show me things?" he repeats.

Harry nods.

Louis laughs softly. "I think you're showing me the school's film, the projector set-up... things like that."

Harry nods again. "That would be..." he trails off and looks around, then let out a noise of recognition. "That would be over here!" He happily says, walking towards a door near the other side of the gym. When he reaches the door he opens it and flicks on the light. Nothing looked familiar when he peered inside. It honestly just looks like a bunch of junk in boxes scattered about.

Louis walks in and looks around curiously. He found film in a box and then he looked at a projector and then he looked at more film, and then he found this weird black thing that had three stands to it. He seemed to like it, though. He looked around at a lot of other stuff that Harry couldn't name, so he just stood near the door patiently and quietly. He didn't care if it took a long time; he was able to miss a class for this, so Louis can take as long as he wants. 

"They want me to use the school's camera but I doubt I will," Louis says with a look of shame on his face as he picked up a camera. "From the sixties, I'm sure. Terribly old. Won't do, won't do..." He trails off.

Harry hums to himself. 

"Want these pictures to turn out great and all," Louis continues. Harry only nods. Louis looks up at him, his glasses drooping low on the bridge of his nose; he pushes them up with a smile. "You don't care about this stuff."

Harry shakes his head. "No, 'course I do! It's interesting."

"Mm," Louis hums with narrowed eyes. He puts the camera safely away and wipes the dust from his hands. "Got a sturdy camera I can use for this eight millimeter film back at home," he notes.

Harry nods again. 

"Right, that's all I needed to know," Louis says. He puts everything he dragged out back in its place and walks over to Harry.

Harry frowns a little. That means he'd have to go back to class. "That didn't take so long."

Louis walks out of the room and Harry follows him. "What do you mean?"

"Well," he starts, but then stops following Louis so that he could walk up the bleachers to get his school bag. "I don't want to go back to class yet."

Louis has an eye crinkling smile as he stares at him. Harry got down from the bleachers and put his hands on the straps of his bag. "Someone miss me?" He jokingly says.

Harry laughs and rolls his eyes. "Dream on."

Louis puts a hand over his heart, acting offended. Then the door behind him was thrown open and in walked Liam and Niall with smug smiles on their faces. Harry frowns. 

"Why are you guys here?"

"We convinced Mrs. Anderson that you needed help so that we could get out of class, too," Niall happily boasts. "Hey, mate!" he says to Louis.

Louis smiles. "Hello. Forgot to tell you that your football was kicked into my backyard. You can just go get it, and if it happens again, feel free to run over and grab it! I don't mind."

Niall laughs. "Forgot I even did that."

Liam furrows his eyebrows as he stares at the two conversing. "I'm Liam," he says to Louis, extending his hand out. 

Louis shakes it. "Louis," he says to Liam. The three of them look around at each other. "Well, I was just about to leave, but apparently you all went to such great lengths to get out of class so maybe I should stick around and pretend I need you all."

Niall smiles and then laughs loudly as he shoves Louis' shoulder. "Fuck yeah!" Niall swears when he's excited. Or happy. Or angry. Any chance given, really.

Louis softly smiles and stares at the way Niall seemed so excited by this, but then he just nodded and looked at his watch. "'Bout thirty minutes? Until your next class, yeah?"

Liam nods and Harry fiddles with his bag, watching them all interact. He sat down on the bleachers while they talked about something productive they could do, because Louis said he refused to keep them from class unless they were actually doing something, which he couldn't help but smile at. Louis always seems so chilled out; it just reminded Harry how much of an adult he was.

Somehow they all ended up crammed in the room Harry and Louis were in before. Louis had asked them to help him organize things more and separate different types of film. He had to help Harry more because he kept messing things up, and it only made him even more flustered with Louis intently watching him. But sometimes their hands would brush when Louis would reach to help out, and Harry's face is so hot from blushing that he had to keep his head down to let his hair cover his face. He doesn't know what the hell is happening to him, honestly.

It took them all the remaining time they had to get everything organized, and when they were done, Liam and Niall groaned and headed off for their next class, with a polite goodbye thrown Louis' way. Harry walked out the doors with Louis and then stopped to say goodbye, but before he could get the words out, Louis said:

"Are you free anytime soon?"

Harry nods a little too swiftly. He doesn't work today because he has to go buy a tux, but that can always wait. Right? 

"When, exactly? Because I've been thinking about what you said. The modeling thing. I don't know. It's more experimental, not for anything, really. Or maybe we could just set aside a time to go out and I'll take the style of pictures I like to do," Louis says, looking Harry in the eye.

"Yeah. After school I'm getting a tux for the dance, so you can just come along. If that's okay?"

Louis nods. He had seemed nervous about asking only moments ago, but Harry's reply seemed to have given him a confidence boost. "I'll pick you up from here."

"Okay," he quickly says. Louis smiles at his eagerness. "I should get back. I'll see you."

"See you," Louis replies.

Harry turns with a wide smile and makes his way back to class, but makes a mental note to ring his mum and tell her that she didn't have to worry about taking him shopping.


	6. 5.

"Riley's got a bloody date!" Niall furiously tells Harry in the hall.

Harry gave him a look. "The dance is so soon, mate, what did you expect?"

"Whatever. I like Lily now anyway."

Harry snorts. "That Lily?" he asks, pointing to a tall blonde. 

Niall nods. "Yeah. She seems great."

"Better ask her out before someone else does. If she doesn't have a date already, that is."

Niall groans. "I've got some digging to do. See you tomorrow, mate."

Harry watches Niall walk off, and then he stops by his locker to get his things out and into his school bag before meeting Louis outside. There are a swarm of vehicles outside as parents pick up their kids, and Harry doesn't spot that bright, red car that belongs to Louis. Of course, he thinks. He forgot. The thought was easily placed in his mind and suddenly it seemed like a very likely thing that would happen, but from a distance, he hears his name being called out. A red car squeals up by the curb and Louis pops his head out the top with a grin, waving him over. Maybe Harry was a bit too quick to judge.

He runs over with a grin and carefully slides into the car (he can't get over how cool he feels getting into the car, but he's still very aware of how luxurious it is so he has to be careful), and then he puts his bag on the floor between his feet.

"Have a nice day?" Louis asks.

"Yeah," Harry says with a nod. Louis' wearing bluejeans and a burnt orange shirt that brings out the faint pink color of his cheeks, and honestly, who gave him the right.

"Good, good. Now, directions. Where we off to, young Harry? Where's a nice place to eat around here?"

Harry looks at Louis' neck with a tilted head. He noted the camera already slung around his neck and he felt heat sneak up to his cheeks once more; he hadn't really thought about being photographed until now. Louis would be taking pictures of him all evening. He's suddenly very self-conscious about his hair. His fingers run through the curls, trying his best to smooth them out from the unruly look they're sporting. 

"Uh. The diner," he quietly says. 

Louis glances over at him as he pulls out of the school parking lot. "Something wrong?"

Harry shakes his head too many times, because how the hell would he know something's wrong? Harry knew he wore his emotions plainly on his face, but surely it wasn't that easy to tell if something was going on. "No, nothing at all. Just... Do I look weird?" Harry looked down. He wore brown corduroy's that flared at the feet, and a lighter brown-toned shirt that he tucked only the front into. His belt was black and and simple, but Harry's wearing his nice clothes, thank fuck. He hadn't known when he put on this outfit that Louis would be taking pictures of him in it at the end of the day.

Louis let out a loud laugh. "What do you even mean, 'look weird'?"

"Like..." Harry held up his hands and waved them around for no apparent reason. "My hair. Is it too long?"

Louis' features softened when he realized Harry was serious, cerulean eyes flashing over to him. "Harry, there is nothing wrong with your hair. You look fine, trust me. Are you just nervous about me taking pictures?"

Harry shrugs. "I dunno. Maybe."

"Shouldn't be. It's a casual thing. You won't even realize the camera is there."

"Who else have you photographed?" Harry asks. 

Louis narrows his eyes in thought. "Random people. I've never had my own model."

Something in Harry's chest swelled. It wasn't his heart, because that would be ridiculous. It was just something near his heart. Because why would Harry's heart swell at the mention of him being Louis' first model? "Not a model. Just a casual hang out, right? Casual," Harry says, nodding to himself. 

"Casual," Louis repeats.

Harry exhales and then points to turn, and Louis did so. He rubs his palms against his jeans, cleaning the sweat from them, while also trying to clear his thoughts. He shouldn't feel so nervous since Louis' somewhat an acquaintance now, but he's always felt a little nervous around Louis. Now there's going to be a camera in front of his face to catch it. And that made him panic even more; he's such an open book it's ridiculous, and now Louis' going to catch every emotion with a camera. 

The diner wasn't very far from the school (nothing was very far from anything in this town) so they were there in only a few minutes. They both scrambled out (Harry, clumsily), entered the diner, and sat in a booth. Harry forgot his money in his school bag in the car, and Louis pulled up his camera and told Harry that today was on him. Harry just huffed and strongly expressed his disliking for this, but Louis just snapped a picture.

"Hey," Harry said with a playful pout.

Louis snapped another picture. "Hello."

Harry suppressed a smile and tried to tune out the sounds of the shutter. "Do you want anything? Like...fries? A Coke?"

Louis put his camera on the table and fished around in his pocket for some money, and then he handed it over to Harry. Harry slowly took it. "Burger. And fries," Louis says. Harry nods. "And a Coke."

Harry nods again, with a smile, and turns to walk over to the bar to order. It's what he usually did, because he likes to say hello to Ms. Rosanne, who happily greeted him loudly. She's a perky old lady that Harry's known his entire life. She and her ex-husband were close to his mother and father; she was his babysitter and everything else a sweet, old lady was. She's also the cheekiest woman he's ever known.

"Harry!" she shouts, leaning across the counter. Her knowledgeable face beams at him, eyes wrinkling, accentuating her old age. "Lookin' as handsome as ever. Got yourself a bird yet?"

"No, ma'am, I haven't a girlfriend," he grinned back. He thought he could hear Louis' camera. "Just waiting for the right one, you know."

She nods and reaches across the counter to pat his cheek. "I did. Wasn't worth the wait, I'll tell ya that."

Harry laughs. "C'mon! Jerry wasn't that bad, right?"

She gave him a look. "Let's just say that the only good thing I got out of his cheatin' ass was the divorce money my lawyer snaked out of him. Look what it got me!" she proudly said with a wave of her arms. 

Harry put his elbows on the counter and then hid his face behind his hands, ashamed of his smiling and need to laugh. 

"Well, what do you want to eat? Don't want to keep your friend waiting."

Harry moves his hands away from his face and peered over at Louis, who was messing with the notches on his camera. "Two cheeseburger meals, please. With Coke."

She nodded and took his face in her hands, squeezing his cheeks, and he just smiled and patted her hand. "Coming right up, handsome!"

Harry leans away from the counter as she went into the back room, and then he started to make his way back to Louis. Louis smiled at him, and Harry smiled back, and he was doing so much smiling that his dimples were hurting. He sat down and stared at Louis' bright eyes. 

"She seemed to like you."

Harry's smile widened, painfully so. He massaged his cheeks. "Yeah, I've known her all my life. She's very funny."

Louis stares at Harry's hands that were massaging his cheeks. He then lifted his camera up and snapped a picture of him, which made Harry drop his hands and look out the window. Maybe if he really ignored the camera, this would all become easier. 

"Would it be better if we talked a bit more through this?" Louis asks as he lowered his camera, noting Harry's uncomfortableness.

Harry turns and sucks on his lower lip. He wouldn't mind getting to know Louis more. Like where he came from. Louis just randomly showed up in this small town for no apparent reason; he just wants to know why. So, Harry nodded his head, and tried to find a place to rest his gaze at. Louis' eyes seemed to do the trick.

"What do you want to talk about?" 

Harry pursed his lips, tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, and then let his gaze drift on Louis' face. He's tan and has a bit of stubble running along his jaw and chin, which flatters his face and makes him appear all the more mature. His feathery, brown hair sits perfectly on his head, in a ruffled look that he annoyingly pulls of. Harry would probably look homeless if he walked around with his hair looking like that, but it looks wonderful on Louis. He catches himself before making the silence awkwardly long, and replies to Louis with a single word: "You."

"Me?" Louis questioned, a laugh pushing through his mouth. It was an uncomfortable laugh. Forced. "Right, okay. What about me?"

"Where'd you come from?"

Louis poked his tongue out to lick his top lip. "Round London. Moved there from a place in Yorkshire."

Harry widened his eyes. "London?" That's all he heard. He'd never had the opportunity to travel to London—the big city. He couldn't help that his voice was laced with excitement. "Why on earth would you come here, then?" Harry only then remembered he had told Niall that he liked the country side more. Harry doesn't really believe that.

Louis' smile wavers and a slight shrug moves through his shoulders. His eyes bounce around from object to object, as if he was trying to think of a way to word what he was about to say. "I heard there was a great bakery here."

Harry tries to suppress a smile, but fails miserably. "Really," Harry says with a role of his eyes. 

The conversation was light after that. Harry had a feeling Louis didn't want to talk about why he had moved. Harry felt as if Louis was driving one day and had randomly stumbled into this small town and figured he'd move there just for the hell of it. He could think up stories in his head all day about why a rich guy from the city would be there, but Louis kept snapping pictures. It was like that until they had finished their meal, drove to the suit store, and was beginning to try on suits for prom.

Harry didn't know why or how watching Louis load film in his camera would be so fascinating. The way his fingers moved over the camera with such delicacy and concentration showed Harry that he really loved doing this. Louis was currently winding the film in his camera, preparing to replace it with another film roll. He popped open the back, lifted a lever, and carefully took the film out and dropped it into a canister. After putting that canister away, he grabbed another roll of film, put it in the back of his camera, and started to unwind the film into the camera. It was honestly beautiful to watch. 

Harry, though, was waiting for the kind lady to bring him a suit in his size while Louis fired up a few shots to see if everything was working properly. 

"Here you are," Rosy says. She was older and had gray strands of hair mixing with the black. Her red lips smiled happily as she handed him a blue suit.

Harry reaches out for the blue suit, and couldn't help but grin widely when he got his hands on it. It was soft to the touch, made with velvet, and was a baby blue shade. He'd seen it in the window when they walked in, and had asked to try it on. He already likes this one better than the red one he'd tried on earlier, and once he slid his arms through the suit's jacket, he felt at ease. It was so soft he didn't want to take it off. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and tried to suppress the smile already tugging at his lips, but he couldn't. He thinks he looks amazing. Velvety blue pants reached high up to his waist—Harry tucked a white button-up into it and fiddled with the rows of black buttons on them. The jacket fit great, and honestly, his legs have never looked better. With one last look at himself, he slides the curtain back, steps out, and makes his way over to Louis. Something had caught his eye outside, so his body was turned to the large windows in the shop.

"What do we think?" Harry asks. He straightens out the front of his suit when Louis turns his head.

For a moment Louis doesn't say anything, so Harry thinks he must not look as good as he thought. He forces his eyes over to him, and finds Louis trailing his eyes up and down the suit which was clinging to him. A moment passes before he says, "Oh, mate, that's the one!" Louis' grinning. Harry feels like he can breathe now.

Harry turns to face the mirrors to the side of him and examines the details. The suit fit perfectly; the light bounced off it and made it appear even silkier than what it was. It clung to his thinner body and filled out the parts where he always thought he was too thin at. Maybe he just views himself as lanky and too tall, but the suit fits his thighs and arms so well it was incredible. And unbelievably fashionable. He immediately feels better about himself and catches Louis staring in the mirror behind him, before he lifts his camera and snaps a few more photos. The corner of his mouth turns up into a smirk before he looks to his side at Rosy.

"Yeah, I think this is the one," Harry says to her. She smiles at him.

"Oh, lovely! I'll ring you up and bag the suit after you change, dear," she sweetly says.

Harry makes his way back to change out of his suit, which didn't take long. He was careful about undoing the many buttons on the pants, afraid to tug at them too harshly. After pulling his own clothes on (he really hates the way his clothes fit now after trying on a suit like that), he heads out and gives the outfit to the lady to bag up. Louis walked up beside Harry while he was checking out and mentions something about how good the pictures will turn out once they're developed.

"Hopefully," Harry mutters. He hands the lady the money.

"Definitely," Louis corrects.

———

Once Harry got home, he showed his mum the outfit. She hugged him with tears in his eyes and told him he was the most handsome boy she knew. Then, Harry took it off, ate dinner, and went into his bedroom to do some homework. 

He's only a tiny bit excited for the dance. He's excited to get drunk with his mates and party, but that's about it. Liam's got a girl, Niall's working on his... Harry knows he'll end up alone by the end of the night, but that's okay. He's used to it. He's just going to try to not let that get in the way of him having a good time at the dance. It's all about the memories, not about whose dates everyone has. At least that's what he's going to keep telling himself.

He's sitting at the desk by his window and trying to focus on reading the textbook splayed out in front of him, when he spots familiar dark hair bouncing around in the backyard. Harry puts his pencil down and leans forward, watching as Gemma hops on her bicycle and takes off to the road. He bites at his lip, curious thoughts invading his mind. He's learned to let Gemma do as she pleases by this point, but he's still painfully curious as to what she's up to all the time. 

His chair squeaks when he leans back in it, a small huff leaving his mouth when he tries to focus back on the textbook in front of him. He kept rereading the same line, and every time he did, the words never lingered. He couldn't study like this. He stands, stretches, puts on a record, and stares at the suit hanging on his closet door. He reaches out for it and unzips the covering, letting the velvety softness caress the tips of his fingers. A smile spreads out across his mouth and excitement flutters in his chest. He doesn't know why he's suddenly excited about the stupid dance, but dressing up in this suit that cost more than he'd like to think about ignites that childlike giddiness. 

So he welcomes the childlike giddiness, and lets it wash over his toes and the tips of his fingers as he dances around the room in beat with the music flooding his surroundings. He's got to practice his dance moves, obviously, so he jumps around stupidly. In a moment, it's like he's melted in with the yellow on the walls, and it's only him and the Eagles—that blast through his record player—in the world. And he loves every moment of it. His mind is elsewhere, far from his current hardships, and his surroundings turn into swirls of yellow and guitar riffs. It's a place he wished to visit more often.


	7. 6.

Harry never was never up to much on Saturdays. His mum and another lady she employed, Jennifer, would take over the bakery for the day, so he usually did homework or hung out with Niall and Liam. Today, he has no plans. So, that will lead to listening to his records and cleaning his deep cleaning his room. 

He was in the middle of sorting through what could be dirty clothes, when his sister shouts his name out throughout the house, saying someone was ringing him.

"Harry!" She shouts once more, frustration evident in her tone.

He runs out of his room and down the stairs, a little breathless by the time he reaches the phone, but still relieves it from Gemma. 

"Hello," he huffs out.

"Young Harry!" Excitement is laced in Louis' voice, which makes a smile form to his lips. "I've got a question. One: why are you breathing so hard, and two: what are you doing?"

"Um," Harry starts, inhaling deeply, trying to gather his thoughts and breath before replying, "Just ran down the stairs, and currently, I am cleaning. What are you doing? And did my mum give you our number? I think she's a bit obsessed with you."

Louis laughs, which makes Harry's smile widen. "Stop cleaning and come to mine. I wanna show you your photos. And yes, your mum did give me your house number. She's a lovely woman."

"She is," Harry agrees. "All right, I'll come over. Have you looked at the photographs? Do I look like a complete spaz?"

Louis chuckles again. "You are a spaz, but I doubt it'll show on film." 

Harry laughs at his words and mindlessly untangles the wiring on the phone. "I'll bike over. Don't laugh, because I'll be on my sister's bicycle!"

"Why can't I just pick you up?" Louis questions.

Harry declines the offer and says he needs the exercise anyway. Louis tries to argue with him, but Harry says goodbye and hangs up the phone before he could say anything else. It was nothing against Louis—he just liked being out in the cold weather. He likes the numbingly cold wind on a cloudy day. It may sound a bit depressing, but he's always enjoyed chilly evenings.

He then runs upstairs and to his room to throw on a jumper and some shoes before heading outside and riding the uncomfortable bicycle to Louis' house. He's aware he may be spending more time with Louis than he does his own mates, but he's just nice to be around. Different. He can't help himself, especially when Louis rings him up and asks to come over. And it's not entirely his fault—he's just awfully interested to see how the photos have turned out. 

Obviously.

He bikes through fallen leaves and welcomes the cold wind like an old friend, allowing the harsh chill to numb the tip of his noise and cheeks with a warm smile on his face. This time of year has always been his favorite; it makes him thankful for small things. Like: warm blankets, hot tea, and the warmth when entering a shop from the cool outside. The sun is never too warm for this weather, so he can actually bear stepping into its rays with a jacket and pants on without wanting to sweat to death. It's the weather for short days so the nights can be longer, which he adores. But he's always been a bit odd. And maybe it was too cold to bike in the cloudy weather comfortably, but he'll live.

When he finally reaches Louis' home, he pedals up the drive and hops off the bike, shaking his head at the small fountain perched in the grass. It somehow looks like a three-tiered white cake, with water running down the sides and into the tiny pool below it filled with water. He knows it isn't a cake, but he's never seen anything like it before so he doesn't know what else to compare it to. And it's ridiculous to have something like that in the front yard; he begins to wonder why Louis has a house this grand. It doesn't really suit him, if he's being honest. He's too cheeky and relaxed to be someone on the rich side. Harry's used to rich people believing they're entitled to anything and everything, with no personality, and finding life's worth consisting of only material things and keeping up appearances. Louis didn't seem like the fountain-in-the-front-yard type. 

The stairs leading up to Louis' white, two-story home are elegant and much more flashy than Niall's, with white columns dressing the front, and a gold hand-rail that probably cost more than his mum's vehicle. There's a walk-out area on the second floor, where doors open up and a sitting area is placed, and Harry's only dying a little bit to step out onto it. 

He knocks once he reaches the large, dark brown door, and patiently waits for Louis to open it. He's imagining what his house looks like on the inside—he can't help himself. He knows the foyer looked magnificent from when he surprised Louis with desserts, but he never walked around or caught a glimpse of anything inside. He suspects large paintings that cost a small fortune will be littered around the walls. And weird furniture and comfortable couches and alcohol carts galore, because that's what rich homes look like on the telly. 

The door is open with a tiny groan, which cuts off Harry's imaginative mind, but he smiles politely. "Come in, come in," Louis welcomes with a smile. He's wearing simple bluejeans and a colorful striped shirt that runs down the length of his arms. He looks incredibly cozy. And of course his hair is ruffled perfectly.

Harry walks in with a wide grin and messes with the sleeves of his jumper absently as he inspects the high-ceilinged room. Curiously his eyes look around at the bare foyer, but he decides to not pay much attention to it, because he's certain the rest of the house will be dressed beautifully. But the further he walks into the house, he discovers that it's not. Louis' house is surprisingly bare. It's massive, and the heels of his boots echo throughout the house as Louis leads Harry through it. In his living room area there's only two couches—no extravagant paintings, and no alcohol carts. There's a tiny television, probably smaller than the one his own family has. Everything's uncomfortably white and blank. Harry feels almost bad for being disappointed by it all; he assumed the luxurious house would be filled with stupid little things, but even the built-in bookshelf by the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room were empty. It was almost depressing.

"I know," Louis starts, snapping Harry away from his lingering gaze. "It's not decorated. I hate doing that stuff so I decided against it. Follow me, the room's this way."

Harry follows Louis down a long hall, passing the stairs that lead up to an open second floor from above. There's a few rooms down the hall, with the doors firmly closed to each one, before they stop at the last one at the end of the hall. Louis opens the door for him and Harry happily walks in, but is a little taken aback by the darkness. Louis shuts the door, and that's when Harry really struggles with adjusting his eyes to his surroundings. But there's a faint redness that offers little light, and that serves a small portion in helping his eyes focus. And when they do, they flitter around the room curiously. He's never seen anything like it! There's pans across a long table and pictures strung up around the entire room. Louis easily moves around in the darkness as he walks over to a pan and puts a white piece of paper into it. 

Harry watches in fascination as he grabs some tongs and pushes the paper deeper into the water. 

"Some are already developed if you want to take a look at them," Louis says.

Harry watches Louis motion up to the pictures strung up. He finds the ones Louis took of him at the park when he drove him to Niall's house and can't help but scrunch his nose uncomfortably—it's weird looking at himself that way. He surprisingly doesn't look too terrible, with his hair flying around his face and a wide smile on his mouth, which he feels shows too much teeth. Also, why is his smile so lopsided? 

He spots the one of him and Ms. Rosanne at the diner, where she's got her hands on his cheeks. He smiles fondly at it. Then he cringes of the one of him massaging his cheeks, with his mouth squished together from the action unattractively. There's other photographs that aren't of him, but of random objects or people. There's one of a child petting a dog, and a bird perched on a branch, and an older couple holding hands on a bench outside. It's lovely, really. The mundaneness of the activities he's captured somehow turn out beautiful and artistic. 

His gaze lingers on the photo of him in his blue suit he bought for the dance. Harry almost wants to slap himself for looking so cocky. Lips tugged into a smirk is made obvious in the mirror he's looking in, his head tilted slightly, and body held confidently. Louis is in the reflection with the camera pressed to his eyes, and yeah, he really likes the photo. He likes being able to see himself and not feel disappointment, but actual happiness that he looks good in the suit, and that it wasn't all in his head.

"They look good, Louis," he gently says. They really do. He's surprised to actually like most of the pictures of himself—apart from the ones of his toothy grins.

"Thanks, mate. I think you look pretty good in 'em."

Harry, of course, blushes, but doesn't try to conceal it due to the dark room. 

It's quiet. Louis moves his paper over to another tray, and he pushes it down into the water with another set of tongs. He walks over to Louis and doesn't say a word—just watches in fascination. Louis doesn't seem to notice he's right beside him until he looks up—and what the fuck. How are his eyes twinkling in the darkness?

"This is my favorite room," Louis quietly says. "It's peaceful. Time passes quickly here."

Harry glances to the glasses framing Louis' eyes, and then back down to his hands. He puts the tongs down and lets the photo sit in the tray for a moment.

He can't really see how he'd enjoy a room like this. Staying in a silent place too long with his active mind is never a good thing to be left alone to. But there is something admirable about getting lost in something you're passionate about, and not worrying with the silence it brings with it. "It's nice," Harry finally says. "I've never been in a room like this before."

"This one's my favorite." Louis sidesteps him and makes his way over to a photo before taking it down and bringing it over to Harry. "I like the way the sun glare hits."

Harry stares at the photo in awe. It's of him, at the diner, and the sun shines down from the top right corner. He's sipping a glass-bottled Coke through the straw and staring at Louis, his dimples popping out, and eyes a bright green. He doesn't have any words as he looks it over. It's incredible. Harry doesn't think he's ever looked more like a model, and he hates to think that of himself.

"Wow," he quietly says. "You're insanely talented."

Louis laughs. "It helps when the model's got a handsome face."

Harry swallows thickly and hands the photo back, face hot and heart thumping in his chest. His mouth is dry from the compliment. He's just being cheeky, he knows. But it does something to him that's never happened before, and it feels so strange and new that it nearly knocks him off his feet. Before he knows it he's leaning back to the door, hand searching for the knob, and then plainly walking out. Louis tries to tell him to keep the door closed because he's developing a photo, but Harry doesn't process it as he's leaving. He shuts the door behind him, though. To be courteous.

He's quick to find the bathroom in one of the many rooms in the hallway. It's massive, of course, with a huge mirror and a faucet in the shape of a stupid swan. The feeling in his stomach doesn't go away and he has to squeeze his eyes tightly closed to try to make it disappear. He doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to think of the way Louis' compliment made him feel, because that new feeling accompanies it and it scares the shit out of him. He doesn't know how to explain it, and he doesn't want to be around Louis while thinking about it. It's wrong, what he's feeling, and that's enough to want to relinquish every emotion he's felt thus far.

"Fuck," he whispers to himself. 

He jumps when there's a knock at the door. Harry quickly flushes the toilet so it seems like he left to use the bathroom, washes his hands, and opens the door. Louis' looking at him out of pure confusion, his brows tightly drawn in, and lips pursed. 

"All right there?"

Harry nods. "Just havin' a wee." He waves back to the toilet, as if he has to explain where he would've pissed at. He might be absolutely terribly at lying.

Louis scans him up and down, before his cloudy eyes linger on Harry's. Harry gulps again—he's sure he reads right through his stupid lie, but Louis suddenly nods and motions for him to follow for some tea. 

"Tea?" Harry questions, following after Louis. "I'd love some." The weird sickly feeling in his stomach starts to evaporate at the mention of a cozy, familiar cup of tea.

They walk through the hall, past the living room, and into the massive kitchen. It resembles Niall's in that way—if resemblances compared to length and width. It's probably the size of his own living room! Why do people need this much space? Brown cabinets wrap around nearly the entire room, a matching colored island sits in the middle of the kitchen with a few barstools, and out of the corner of his eye he spots an alcohol cart. Richies. 

Louis moves around the kitchen and puts a kettle on the stove; he asks Harry how he likes it as he pulls out a few mugs, and he tells him: two spoonfuls of sugar and a dash of milk. He waits patiently for the tea, and once Louis' made two mug-fulls, he hands one to Harry how he likes it. Harry let the warmth from the mug surround his fingers before taking a long sip of it. He then sits on a barstool by the island and gulps down more of his tea. The hot liquid soothes over his twisted up stomach and calms the foreign nerves he's not used to experiencing.

"I've got a question," Harry starts, not daring himself to look over at Louis, and instead settling his gaze on his tea. "I was wondering... How do you... Like, you know, how do you—"

"Afford this place?" Louis interjects. 

Harry's shoulders ease out of relief. He didn't know how to say it. "Yeah."

"Parents were pretty wealthy. Uh, dad left me a load of cash so I've saved it, bought this place, and now I'm focusing on my photography."

Harry gives in and looks over at Louis, who's now sitting beside him, and doesn't seem to have a look of worry or sadness on his face. He just sips his tea, face blank, and looks back at Harry. His eyes don't give off any emotion, but their beauty still radiates like pools of blue water reflecting the sun. Harry's slightly annoyed with himself for always comparing his eyes to water, but he can't help himself. They're poetic in that aspect.

"Are you really okay?" Louis asks.

Harry clears his throat. "Yeah, yeah. Just getting to know you some."

"I like a mystery, don't you?" Louis cheekily smiles.

Harry shrugs, unable to hold back a smile because of how Louis' beaming at him. His eyes are holding a glint of something Harry can't read. His face is happy, lips smiling and eyes crinkling, but his eyes are telling a different story. "Maybe. I like to know things, though." Looks like he's going for honesty today—or maybe he's trying to know Louis a little more by his suggesting tone. Clearly he wants to talk, and he hopes Louis gets the message loud and clear. 

"So let me know more about you, then. If I can ask a question, you can ask a question," Louis suggests. He takes Harry's contemplative quietness as a yes, it seems, because then he's saying: "Right. My question is... What makes you happiest?"

Harry shifts in his seat. "Right off with the deep questions, huh?" Harry nervously laughs. He taps a thumb against his mug and huffs to himself. Hanging with friends? Maybe. Then it comes to him. "Music."

"What about it makes you happiest?" Louis asks, seemingly interested.

The corner of Harry's mouth turns up. "I thought I was supposed to ask a question!"

"All right, all right," Louis says, hands up in defense. His eyes now hold a look of amusement, and that sends a wave of ease over him. It was strange staring into Louis' blank eyes. "Fire away."

"What's your favorite color?"

Louis looks surprised Harry asked that, but answers nonetheless. "Blue? I dunno, never gave it much thought. Now answer my other question."

Harry shakes his head and looks down at his tea in thought. "I like the expression of it, I guess. The feeling a guitar solo can give. The way things can flow together, even if it doesn't seem they should. Music can be happy, sad—whatever you interpret it to be. It's just... I hate to say it... But groovy."

Louis laughs and rubs his hand lightly on Harry's shoulder. "And you say you're not smart."

It went like that for a good while. They filled up on hot tea and each other's company, and found warmth in serious conversation and laughter. Harry discovered Louis doesn't talk to his mum because they never really got on growing up. She rings him to say hello, but he said the last real conversation they had was before his dad died. Harry's heart ached to comfort him in some way, as odd as it sounds, but he could tell just him talking about it was good enough. Harry understands. He understands needing to get stuff off his chest, but can't due to many reasons that would take too long to list off. Offering a listening ear was probably more than enough—sometimes not saying anything can be everything.

Harry confessed about his own father. It only seemed right, since Louis told him about his. He told him how he's suspiciously always out every night, and how when he is home, he's pestering Harry about finding a real career after college. Louis listened intently and would offer advice when appropriate; it was so easy to talk to him. Jokes flowed easily—Harry thought it was nice to hold a deep conversation one moment, and then laugh until they couldn't breathe the next.

Louis' eyes finally matched the expression of his face. His eyes hid something earlier, as stupid as it sounds. Harry just knows. There's layers to Louis Tomlinson, and Harry's going to enjoy peeling them away and getting to the surface of who he really is. Even though they were bonding, it still felt like he barely knew him. He's definitely easy to talk to and is completely different from Liam and Niall—Harry's certain they've never had serious conversations like what he'd just experienced with Louis. 

Harry watched in fascination when Louis spoke; if he was more nervous with a topic, the long sleeved shirt he was wearing would tuck into his palms and cover his hands. If he was enjoying a conversation, his mouth would close in a tight, wide smile and his face would scrunch in happy interest. It was a marvelous sight.

Harry finally felt comfortable enough to ask the question, but knew it was still risky. He couldn't help himself. He felt like it was more light-hearted than the previous stuff they talked about, so it shouldn't be a difficult question to answer. "Louis," he starts, scans Louis' features before continuing, "why did you move here? Like, the real reason."

The smile soon wipes off Louis' face. Harry felt instant regret. Fuck. And there it goes. All the hope in peeling back a Louis Layer vanished. Maybe the things he'd told him earlier was public knowledge, which was why it was so easy for him to talk about it. Harry feels like the chumpiest of chumps. 

Louis stands, mug in hand, and walks over to the sink. He drops it in and holds onto the counter before slowly turning around and facing Harry. "I don't think I can answer that yet," he softly says. 

Harry nods, a bit too fast, and clears his throat. "Sorry." His tone is gentle. He really didn't mean to upset Louis. It's the last thing he'd want to do, especially when he's getting to know so much about him.

"No, it's okay. Not your fault." Harry releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding in. "There's just a lot of shit that goes on in people's lives, man. Young ones like you don't need to carry the weight of that kind of knowledge. And, you know, the excitement of mystery and all that." Louis scratches his head and puts his forearms on the counter, leaning across Harry with a forced smile. "Harry, you're a good friend to have right now. Thanks for being so kind."

Harry smiles. It's a struggled smile, one that's caused due to the conflict of his thoughts that Louis' words caused. What weight was Louis bearing? Still, the smile stays. Because he considers him a friend, and that truly warms his heart. "Of course," he says. He stands and smooths out his shirt. He says he should probably head back home to get ready for supper, but Louis stops him, a warm hand wrapped around his wrist. Harry hopes Louis can't feel his heartbeat quicken underneath his fingers.

"One last question," he says, removing his hand. "Why do you think you've never had a girlfriend?"

Harry's lips part. He chuckles for a brief second out of uncomfortableness, then furrows his brows. He shrugs, shakes his head, messes with his hands, and shakes his head again. It's a question he never knew the answer to, and one he didn't like to think about. He had mentioned it earlier when Louis asked what his best date he'd been on was, but Harry told him he'd never been on a date. He sort of expected Louis to ask him this. He's bloody eighteen (about to be nineteen!) and has never been with a girl. It's pathetic, really. "I don't know. No one's interested in me, I guess. Uh, and I guess same for me. I've never been interested in anyone before."

Louis stares. It makes Harry uncomfortable to have such a serious gaze set on him, so he looks to the side. Louis then stands up straight, grabs Harry's mug, and puts it in the sink. "All right. Was just curious."

Harry smiles and says goodbye to Louis. He compliments his photography skills once more, and before Harry leaves, Louis offers to drive Harry home, but he politely declines and gets back on Gemma's bike. The cold air feels great on his face, and as the wind hits him, it's like he can breathe better. He also feels better about himself after spending the afternoon with Louis—more lighthearted. He just admires so much about him, is all. And talking to him about his stupid dad, and relationship troubles, and dumb jokes that made him laugh felt like he'd unpacked a suitcase of bricks that he didn't know was strapped on his back.

He parks Gemma's bike in the rightful spot, and silently groans to himself when he sees his dad's vehicle in the driveway. He quietly opens the door and shuts it behind him. His dad isn't in his spot on the couch, so he suspects he's smoking in the back room. But when shouting starts, he freezes in his spot. He can hear his mum and dad yell at each other, words incoherently being spewed to one another in a hateful tone. Harry quietly sneaks onto the stairs and pads up as quickly, yet silently, as he could. 

Gemma's at the top of the stairs with wide eyes, a look of shock consuming her face that has Harry's stomach dropping. "It's been going on for, like, half an hour."

Harry sits down beside her, his eyes also wide with worry. "What are they fighting about?"

"Apparently," she begins, "a woman called here and implied dad hadn't showed up to his date. With her. So she called to see what was wrong."

"Holy shit," he whispers to himself. "Holy shit."

"I know," she mumbles.

Harry's arm snakes around her shoulders to offer some comfort; she lays her head down on his shoulder while Harry tries to piece together this information. The thought had always crossed his mind about what his father was always up to in his spare time, but he never wanted to believe it was true. It's his dad, after all. His heart pounded in his throat, and he realized he was on the verge of crying as he listened to the argument taking place downstairs. 

In this moment, with his sister's head on his shoulder, he realizes nothing will ever be the same. It can't be. How does a family recover from that?

"What's gonna happen?" He asks in a hushed tone. "Poor mum. God, what a bloody asshole! Why would he ever—how could he do this to his family! His fucking children, Gemma."

"Harry, sheesh. Haven't heard you swear like that since you knew what those words meant," she laughs out.

They both jump when they hear the sound of glass breaking. His mum screams at the top of her lungs for their dad to get out, and then they jump again when the slamming of a door rattles the entire house. Harry slowly stands, but Gemma remains seated. He nearly trips running down the stairs to see what was broken, and stops once he sees his mum sitting on the ground, trying to sweep up the broken glass. She was crying. Harry felt a large piece of his heart break.

Harry walks over and kneels down, his hand reaching out to grasp her shoulder. She jumps, looks up, and frowns when she sees it's Harry. 

"Love, I'm sorry," she sniffles out, her face red and splotchy. 

"Here, let me." He reaches out and grabs the broom and dustpan from her. She sits back, away from the glass, and watches as he sweeps it all up to throw it in the trash. After he makes sure everything's cleaned up, he sits beside his mother and leans his back on the cabinets below the sink. He motions for her to come closer to him, and she does. 

His arms wrap tightly around her and she leans her face in his chest. They're both silent. He's never hugged his mum like this, and never realized how small she is. It breaks his heart—a son should never have to hold his mother like this. Especially when it's from heartbreak caused by his own bloody father. He doesn't realize that he's crying as well until the saltiness from the tears touch his lips; he's able to sneakily wipe his eyes so that she won't notice, but Gemma does. She walks down and looks at them with a sad look stricken across her face, and soon, she makes her way over to sit beside their mum, and wraps her arms around her as well. 

"We don't need that jackass," she says.

Their mum laughs.

"I'm sorry." She sits up and wipes her eyes. "I can't believe your father. I'm just bloody happy my name is on the bakery, and not his like he persisted. God, I need some wine." She suddenly stands up and so does Harry and Gemma.

Harry kisses her on the cheek and hugs her once more, telling her he loves her. He doesn't want to leave her alone. He doesn't know exactly what to do, because all of this is new territory. He's used to his dad drinking his scotch on the couch and lecturing him about his future. He's used to his happy mother, who's always yelling at Gemma for her clothes, and will lovingly ruffle her fingers through Harry's hair when he's sitting on the couch. 

He doesn't want her to fall apart. He can't watch his mother do that, not when he feels like his own life is on the verge of doing so. He can't keep his mum afloat if he can't keep himself from drowning first.


	8. 7.

"Damn," Niall says. "I'm sorry, mate."

Liam nods, says he's sorry too, and spins the football in his hands.

Harry's laying on his bed and listening to the music of Pink Floyd flood into his room. Their newest album was constantly on loop lately. His eyes lingered on his ceiling fan, which was slowly turning in its circular motions. It oddly calmed Harry. School was exhausting—along with everything else in his life. But classes were slower than usual, and with all the exams piling up on his lap, he felt like he was slowly drowning. He was just waiting for the water to consume him and his thoughts. He'd be okay with that part.

"We all thought it but never talked about it," he mumbled, coming back to reality. "He's a dick. Hasn't called or tried to contact us all week."

His friends were both quiet. It's weird talking with them about something so terrible. Usually conversation was lighthearted with them, apart from the moments when they were upset about their romantic relationships, or lack thereof. But Liam has been off with Olivia, as happy as ever, so Harry felt guilty calling him up and asking him to come over. He just wanted to be with his friends and discuss the shitty things going on in his life. Niall told them both that things with Lily weren't good, and by that, he means he hasn't tried talking to her. 

Harry then sat up abruptly. "I have an idea," he says. Both Liam and Niall stare at him, waiting. "I think Niall should ask out Lily before it's too late!"

Niall's eyes go wide. Liam nods his head in agreement, and Niall shakes his in disagreement. 

"Hell no!" Niall says.

"Mate," Harry starts, "it would be a wonderful distraction for me, and a way for you to accomplish what you want for the dance. Right?"

Niall had told him after his investigation into Lily, that she hadn't had a date yet for the dance. Harry thinks now's the perfect opportunity for Niall to ask her.

"Not right now. I can't. I wouldn't even know how to ask her. She could say no!"

Liam puts his hand on Niall's shoulder and smiles encouragingly. "We'll figure out a way for her to not say no."

And with that being said, they all started brain-storming ideas. Niall wasn't very excited by it, so it was Liam and Harry that had come up with something that could work. It was nice for Harry to take his mind off things. To stay in his room with friends and not think about his upset mother or his bastard father, or where Gemma was lately. It seemed like she hasn't been home since the night of the fight. Harry was constantly worried about her, and his mum didn't even try picking fights with her about her outfits. Things were slowly falling apart. But his friendships have remained the same. Liam and Niall are their normal selves, so for right now, he's going to cling to that.

After what felt like forever, Harry and Liam decided they finally had a good plan. They're at least hoping it's a good plan. Niall didn't say much throughout the process because of his nerves. Harry, at one point, told him he had a problem with pining after women and not courting them. Niall scoffed, gave him the bird, and stayed silent. They spoke over the plan for a few minutes before they left to go eat dinner at their homes. It had been a long day of school, and now scheming, so Harry's worked up quite an appetite.

Lately, Harry's been trying to prepare the meals. It takes a lot for his mum to sit back and let this happen; she has a strict routine she likes to follow. She was raised cooking for her family, and then when she started her own, she never missed a night preparing the meals. But Harry persisted. After a lot of arguing, she'd finally caved. 

Harry can't cook like his mother. His specialty is baked goods, obviously, but he's been trying. Tonight he tried to whip together a casserole and really tried to follow the instructions out of the cookbook, but when it came to tasting it, it really wasn't that great. But his mum ate it without complaints, drank a glass of wine, and went back to bed. She hasn't really talked much since that night, but Harry's trying. He's really trying to help out.

After cleaning, he found himself studying on the couch for an exam coming up in a class that he hates. The radio was on in the background, playing a program that children usually listen to, but he didn't feel like getting up and switching it off. 

The rotary phone suddenly rings, which draws him out away from his boring evening. He sighs and stands, slowly walks to the phone, and answers it. 

"Hello?"

"Young Harry," a familiar voice says. 

Harry smiles and leans against the wall. "How are you?"

"Bored."

"I'm currently feeling that way," Harry says. He ends up dragging a chair to the phone and taking a seat. "But I was studying for a stupid class."

"Oi, not for me. Ready for that dance in a few weeks?"

Harry twirls the phone cord between his fingers. "I dunno. Liam, Niall and I have a plan to get Nialler a date. It's gonna be dynamite."

Louis laughs. "Someone's a romantic."

"Hell no. I'm just a good friend," Harry defends.

Harry decided to not tell Louis about his father. It seems weird to. Sure, he had just told him how strange his dad was being lately, but telling him something so personal isn't something he was up for. He didn't know Louis that well. He wasn't going to bore him with family drama. They talked about stupid things for a few minutes, like a football match he didn't catch, so Louis took it upon himself to inform him on how it went, and Harry felt bad for nearly ignoring his words completely. He kind of hates sports. A few lighthearted conversations later, there was a knock at the door. Harry stood up, sighed, and told Louis he had to go, said goodbye, and hung up the phone. 

Harry caught the clock before unlocking the door. It read ten-fifteen. Who could be here this late? He turned the knob to the door, opened it, and inhaled sharply. Brown eyes and a receding hairline stared in front of him, a beer gut going along with it. He stared at his dad for a moment to see if he looked torn up like his mum was, but he didn't. He looked like himself.

"Harry," he firmly said. "Can I come in?"

Harry was conflicted. What was he here for? He knew he'd probably come by eventually, but Harry didn't think he'd have to be the one to turn him away if he had to. 

His dad rolled his eyes. "I'm just coming to get a few things. I'm not staying," he grumbled.

Harry was still hesitant. He didn't want his mum coming out and seeing him. "I don't... What is it? I can get it for you."

His dad trailed over his face before huffing with a defeated look on his face. There was a small scar between his eyebrows Harry stared at, so that he didn't have to look him in the eye. "The papers on my desk in the back. Get the ones off the top and bring them to me."

Harry nodded and quickly turned. He glanced behind himself to make sure his dad stayed outside, which he did. He gathered the papers off his father's desk and hurriedly made his way back. His dad snatched them out of his hands and went to walk away, but stopped and turned back to Harry. 

"I'm still your father. I still want to visit with you."

Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't want to spend time with him. He's never liked spending time with him, and now that the truth has come out about him, he really didn't want any bonding time. So he didn't say anything. His dad walked off and got in his vehicle, and Harry watched him leave. The cold chill coming in the door made him shut it, lock it, and run a hand through his hair with an uneasy feeling washing over him. He'd almost reached the couch before the doorknob jiggled and had him turning back, opening it with a loud huff, expecting his father. 

"Gem?" He quietly said. Gemma rushed in, shut the door, and locked it behind her. 

"Hey," she says as she walks past him. 

She heads for the stairs. Harry follows after her and even follows her into her bedroom. "Where've you been?" He asks. 

Gemma stares at Harry with a frown. "Why do you care?"

"Because you seem shaken up?" Harry says. He thought it was obvious why he wanted to know. She has glitter on her body that shines when her shoulders reflect the overhead lighting. 

She had on a sleeveless shirt and a vest that had tassels on the end. It swayed when she moved.  
"If you must know," she starts. She walks over and shuts the door behind Harry. "I've been...dating someone. And we've had our first fight, so. There's that."

Harry sat on her bed. "Who is it?"

"No one you know," she mumbles. She sits on the chair in her room and takes out her high ponytail. "Don't start worrying about me. And was that dad here?"

Harry nods solemnly. "Yeah. I'm afraid that he'll linger around. I'm afraid he'll want to take the house. I'm afraid about a divorce and him taking all mum has." He's been really afraid lately, but didn't feel comfortable telling anyone about this. His sister should understand. At least, he hoped she did.

Gemma stared at him and bit at her bottom lip. "I know," she softly says. "Mum's strong, though. She can take it."

"I don't want her to, though."

Gemma sat beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. She patted his arm. "Look, I know you and mum have this special bond, but she's tough. She's just sad right now. Once she gets through all this, she'll be fine."

Harry turned to her with a frown. "Could you at least be here to help? I feel like I'm the only one doing anything. You're always gone."

She pulls her arm away from him and stands up. She ruffles through her drawers and pulls out clothes to change into. "I'm not gonna put a pause on my life just because mum's life got fucked up."

Harry frowned even more. "Do you really hate her that much?"

Gemma scoffed. "You don't know her like I do—"

"Yeah, I know." Harry stands. "I'm the golden boy." He shoves his hands in his pockets and bites the inside of his cheek, before saying, "I just... I'm the golden boy because I'm a loser. She's never had to worry about me having a girl over. Of me sleeping around. Of me getting drunk at a party. My friends don't party, and girls don't like me. My life is going nowhere! Cut me some slack, it's not like I asked to be mum's favorite!" Harry didn't know why he was suddenly shouting; his emotions have been all over the place lately.

Gemma's eyes widen and a smile creeps onto her lips. "Damn, Harry. I've never heard you talk like that."

"I'm helping my friend's get girls to take to dances, yet no one helps me," he continues. "Because they know I can't get one."

"That's not true," she says. She huffs and tells Harry to sit back down on the bed, so he does. "You're handsome, Harry. Truthfully. I've seen the way girls stare at you when we're out, but you ignore it and pretend like it doesn't happen. Even some of my friends have asked about you." Harry can't help but gape at that. "I think you're oblivious because you don't want to... You don't want to, you know..."

Harry, still surprised, shakes his head. "I do want to! What friends of yours talk about me? Why haven't you told me before?"

Gemma rolled her eyes. "You don't want to date my friends." She nudges Harry's shoulder playfully, and says, "I think you're too focused for a girl. Life's just made you busy. I dunno. But you're a catch, so you could easily get a girl. And you're kind. No guys are as kind as you."

Harry watches her face fall, and suddenly feels suspicious about her new boyfriend. He's sure he would know whoever she was going steady with, but she decided to keep it from him. It's a small town. It'll eventually get out. "You can find a nice guy," he eventually says.

She laughs, but he could tell she didn't find anything funny. "They don't exist."

Harry frowned further. "You're just meeting the wrong people." He pauses for a second. "You're new boyfriend's not kind?"

She huffs and rubs the tip of her nose. It seems she and Harry have that same habit. "He's nicer than the last one. Still a dick, though."

"Maybe it's the town," Harry suddenly says. Gemma eyes him with a strange look. "This town and the people. If we left things would be different. This town sucks people in and turns them evil."

"All right, weirdo, where do you suppose we live, then?" She laughs out.

"I dunno. The city? Somewhere these narrow-minded people don't live. Like dad."

"I can never leave a place like this," she softly says. "I'm the kinda girl that is born here and dies here."

Harry pursed his lips in thought. He can't tell what she meant by that. Maybe it was his stupid boy brain, but he couldn't pick up on the emotions Gemma was going through. She forced a smile, though, and told Harry he should leave so that she could get dressed and go to bed.

"Can you just be here tomorrow?" He softly asks. 

"Sure," she replies.

Harry leaves at that and quietly shuts the door behind him. He makes his way back down to the living room where his textbooks lay, and tried to make himself comfortable on the firm couch before delving back into his studying.

———

"I'm gonna throw up," Niall mutters.

"Well, go ahead and get it out of the way, then," Harry says.

Harry, Liam, and Niall were all huddled by a tree at the front of the school. Charlesden High School wasn't a sight to see in the slightest. It was old—built in the early eighteen-hundreds. It was all stone and castle-like, and needed a proper wash for it to appear newer. The steps leading up to school were filled with students ready to leave their everyday hell. They stood, watching, and waiting.

"She's gone a different way, I can tell," Niall says. "Guess we should go, lads."

Liam caught the back of Niall's shirt when he tried to walk away and pulled him back. "She'll be here."

Harry sees her before Niall does. Long and straight blonde hair sway behind her shoulders. She has a pink turtleneck sweater tucked into a black skirt, which makes her look cutely young. Lily grips her school books and laughs with her friends while she walks down the steps. And the poor girl doesn't know what's coming.

Liam motions behind himself, where one of their friends switched on his car radio and blasts Earth Angel by The Penguins. It's terribly cliché, but Harry has to throw in a good romantic song. What girl doesn't love that?

Harry pushes Niall out from behind the tree a bit too forcefully, but he knew he couldn't get him out any other way. Niall stumbles, looking like a lost puppy, with a single rose in his hand. People have started to spread around him with intense gazes and confused expressions. Niall loudly clears his throat and walks over to the girl on the steps who's currently staring at him with a sweet smile on her mouth. 

"Lily Evans," Niall starts, voice shaky. A few of Lily's friends take her books and push her off the steps toward Niall with giggles, and she slowly walks over to him with a much shyer smile. "L-Lily," he stutters, "I think you're the most, uh, beautiful girl. Um. Anyway, wanna go to the dance with me?" He asks a bit hastily. He holds out the rose toward her.

She stares at it for a moment, and Harry thinks, shit, she's going to say no, but she takes it with a grin and throws her arms around Niall's shoulders. He thinks he saw Lily kiss him on the cheek, too. 

"I'd love to go with you, Niall."

Niall holds up a victorious fist in the air. The music in the car is switched off, and Harry is sliding down the tree with a stress-induced shake of his legs.

"Thank God," he mumbles, now sitting on the ground.

"Tell me about it," Liam says. "I would've hated if she'd said no. Hey, maybe Niall and I can double-date!" Harry frowns. "I mean, never mind. Uh."

Harry looks away from Liam and picks at the grass. "No, you should. Don't ruin your date's fun on my account. I can just meet up with you guys there."

Liam stares with worried, furrowed brows, and chews lightly at the corner of his lower lip. "I don't want to leave you out, though."

"It's fine." Harry forces a convincing smile. "It really is."

———

That night Gemma was finally home to prepare supper. Harry's mother was still laying around the house not doing much. He had walked to her door downstairs too many times to count before walking away, only to come back. He stood in front of her bedroom door, hand raised, then lowered, and then hand raised again. Finally he gained the courage to knock lightly against the door.

"Mum?" he quietly said. She spoke for him to come in, so he slowly opened the door and walked in.

Her bedroom was how it always was, only this time there were clothes thrown around the room. Her bedsheets were jumbled and untucked, laying in a pile in the middle. Her soft floral wallpaper even seemed duller, but it could be from the drawn curtains over the windows. There was a wine bottle next to her bed on the nightstand that Harry chose to ignore when he stepped inside and to the bed where she was sitting.

"Hey. Uh, I was wondering if you needed me to work tomorrow? If you're not heading in, I can," he suggests softly. He didn't want her to worry about working.

She scratched her head and patted her matted, unruly hair. "Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks, Harry."

Harry nodded and fiddled with his thumbs, glancing down, before staring at her. She had puffy eyes and a permanent frown on her lips. "You'll be okay, mum," he encouragingly says.

She looks up at him and forces a smile that looks foreign on her features. "I will."

Harry bit at his lower lip to force back his own tears. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Get his shit out?" She laughs, jokingly. "You've done enough. Everything'll be fine."

He nods slowly. He then backs out of the room and shuts the door behind him, hand trembling with rage as he runs it through his hair. He repeatedly swears to himself, walking away from the hallway, but when he stumbles into his father's library he can't take it. His dad would rather fuck around with some bimbo than have a family and a beautiful wife. His mum wants his shit gone, so he'll gladly take care of that.

He's quick to find the storage closet where things from over the years have piled up. He throws things around to get to unwanted boxes that he could tape together and fill up, and once he has five larger boxes, he hastily moves across the living room and to the library to throw all of his dad's possessions into. Gemma had told him when he had returned from school that she'd seen his car in front of someone else's home. A woman's home. It fueled to Harry's anger. He was in this sudden angry blur which made time go by faster than usual as he cleared out the now unnecessary things. 

He loaded all the boxes in the back of his mum's vehicle, stacking them when he had to, and grabbing a few supplies before stomping upstairs to tell Gemma he was going out.

"Where the hell you goin' looking like that?" She asks. When he doesn't answer, she follows him down the stairs. "Harry!"

He stops, jaw clenched. He tightly held the car keys which were now becoming too sharp against his skin.

"Out," he replies. He turns around and slams the door behind him.

Gemma doesn't follow after, which he's grateful for. He doesn't really want to drag anyone into his anger episode, but it's all he feels. It's spread throughout his chest, into his mind and hands and feet, and he can't contain it. He needs to release it somewhere.

Harry starts the car and turns off the tape that starts playing where it left off. He puts it in drive and takes off, foot on the pedal, firmly pressing until it touched the floorboard. He only slowed when he got onto the main road. Harry stared at the surrounding houses; he passed the diner, and makes a turn down a street he'd never been down until now. He slows the car until it nearly stops, slowly making his way down the street. It was seven-thirty on a Friday evening when he saw his fathers car pulled into another persons house. It was seven-thirty-five on a Friday evening when he parked, lazily threw all of his fathers shit on the front lawn, and sprayed it down with lighter fluid and lit it up. He couldn't sit back and admire it burn, afraid of getting the cops calls on him, honestly. So, he watches the fire rise high, die down into a steady flame, before stumbling back into the car and driving off. He loops around quickly to catch a glimpse of the fire, and nearly misses the moment his dad throws open the door and runs out hastily. 

Harry drives off with a sneaky smile.


	9. 8.

Harry was rushing through his shower with nervous fingers and harsh scrubbing. The reality of his actions were setting in, even though he slept like a baby the night before. It was the first time he didn't go to bed thinking about how angry he is at his father—it was as if his anger burned away with the fire.

He had to be at the bakery at eight. His mum stayed in her room, so he quietly rushed around with a hot cup of tea while he got ready. Gemma wasn't even up by the time he left and headed to the bakery. He thought it was smarter to walk and not take the car, his backpack slung over his back so that he could do schoolwork during the slow hours. 

When he reached the bakery, he unlocked and began prepping. He rushed into putting the prepped scones and bread into the oven, and getting fresh pastries out before he opened at nine, which seemed to come quickly while he was hurrying about. Slowly, the regular crowd came through which consisted of mostly older people that liked to pinch Harry's cheeks and ask how his mother was doing. He'd lie, say she was doing well with a charming smile, and suffer through many more conversations like that for the next few hours.

"Oh, Harry," Mrs. Turner says. She was an older lady with tight, gray curls. She patted his cheek after pinching it. "You're just so handsome! How's school? How's your mum?"

"Do you only want two scones?" He forced a smile at her questions. "School's good. Mum's great, thanks for asking."

"Yes, dear. Just the two. And that's lovely. Your family is just so lovely."

He charged her after boxing up her food, and took the money with another smile. She left with a polite wave and he slouched onto his chair after she left. The morning rush was dying down, and he was just counting down the time when Jennifer would come in a little after noon to relieve him.

The bell above the door rang, so he sat up and moved the textbook into his lap from the counter before looking up at a familiar pair of eyes.

"Gem?" He questions. She looks frantic, with wide eyes and wind-swept hair to suit the crazy look on her face.

"Harry, what the fuck did you do?"

Harry gulped, felt his heart pound, and shakily inhaled. He put his textbook back on the counter and stood. "What do you mean?"

"The bloody police have been coming 'round!" 

Harry gulped again. "What?" he says in disbelief. "Why?"

"Because some loonie lit dad's shit on fire at his mistresses house! And guess what dad saw conveniently when it happened?" Harry raised his brows. "Mum's car, doofus. The one you took to rush off in."

Harry nervously ran a hand through his hair and bit at his lower lip. "What did the police say?"

Gemma's eyes flicked between Harry's. "They want to talk to you, but said Dad wanted to be there when it happened."

Harry's heart sank into his stomach and worry flooded over his body like something he'd never felt before. Both of his hands were now brushing through his hair, before he sat back down and shook his leg nervously. "What do you think's gonna happen?"

"Hopefully Dad will have a heart," she softly spoke.

"What the hell did I do," he quietly says to himself. 

"For the record, I think you're totally a badass now."

Harry ignored her and chewed at his fingernails. "Is mum gonna be in trouble for it? I didn't think about that!" You didn't think at all, he adds to himself.

Gemma shrugs. "They seemed adamant about talking to you. I think dad saw you."

Gemma left after a few minutes of silence drifted between them. She left trying to encourage him and saying everything would be okay, but it wasn't. The police wanted to talk to him. Of course they did, because what he did was terribly wrong. And someone could have gotten hurt. He slumped his shoulders and accidentally tore a corner page out of his textbook without realizing. 

"Do stop frowning, Harold," Louis says as he walks to the counter. "It ages you."

He watched the bell rattle above the door from when Louis had walked in. He couldn't stop frowning if he tried, and sadly, he looked down at the paper in his hand. Slowly he stood and closed his textbook, choosing to lay it in a shelf behind the counter so that he couldn't tear anything else up.

"What would you like?" asks Harry, voice quiet.

Louis' brow quirked and he eyed Harry. "Uh, those."

Harry nodded and grabbed a blueberry scone. He placed it in a pink box and slid it over.

"All right?" Louis asked.

Harry nodded and told him the price. Louis gave him exact change. "I did something stupid, is all."

"You're young. You're allowed to. I'd encourage it, even." Louis didn't leave the counter, only leaned against it to continue talking.

Harry eyed him. Louis' hair was ruffled on his hair, probably from the wind. His bluejeans were a light color, that was fastened to his hips with a black belt. He had on a tan jacket, and underneath was a red, striped shirt. It was by far the most color he'd seen Louis wear, and he liked it. Color rushed to Harry's cheeks when he realized he was staring, so he turned his head with a clear of his throat and sat back down. Louis sensed his stress, it seems.

"What'd you do?"

Harry shook his head. He was too embarrassed to tell Louis, and didn't want to explain his mother and father's situation. Louis dropped the subject, and Harry was grateful. 

"I listened to Lynyrd Skynyrd," he said.

Harry perked up happily. "Yeah?"

The corner of Louis' mouth tugged into a smile. "Really like them."

"Yes! They're amazing!"

"Yeah," Louis agreed as he rested his elbows on the counter. "I like Free Bird, Simple Man, and... Uh, can't remember. But they're really good, can't believe I've never listened to them before."

"Mate, you haven't seen me until you've seen me rock out to Lynyrd Skynyrd," Harry happily says. "I've got their record if you wanna borrow it. You should come by and grab a few albums I've got so that I can broaden your music taste."

"Like the Eagles?"

"Like the bloody Eagles, Louis! Can't believe you've never heard them. Where've you been at lately?"

"In me own head, I suppose." Louis shrugs. "I'll take you up on that offer, though. When should I swing by?"

Harry's face fell. It probably wouldn't be wise for Louis to come over. He didn't want to risk him seeing his mother if she decided to come out of her room, or if the police would stop by and question him. What the hell is his life lately?

"Maybe I can bring them to you," he suggested.

Louis nodded. "Whatever's convenient, Young Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Sod off! I'll start calling you Old Louis."

Louis was laughing, but he put his hand over his heart and feigned being hurt by his words. "How will I live with myself?"

Harry gave him the finger. Louis shook his head and tsk'd. He grabbed his food off the counter and left with a wave, leaving Harry alone again. He was counting down the seconds until he had to be home. His heart began to sink again. 

———

Jennifer walked in with a red dress on and red sunglasses to match. She was smiling happily, her dark hair falling into ringlets around her cheeks. She was pretty for a middle-aged woman. She ruffled Harry's hair and relieved him from his duties. Harry forced a smile to her but left with hunched shoulders. His stomach twisted when he started home, so much so that he thought he was going to puke. He quickly turned around and started walking in the other direction. He couldn't be home. He can't possibly face what's awaiting him. He didn't know if they were gonna jump him at his house, or if it was going to be a few days before the police showed up. Gemma made it seem like they were waiting on him. 

Somehow he found himself at Louis' house. He glanced over at Niall's, considering going to his, but Niall didn't seem like the right kind of company for this. He'd probably freak out and send him home. Louis probably wouldn't. Right? He can't see Louis throwing him out. But then again, if the police are involved, could he blame him if that happened? 

Harry raised his hand to knock at the stupidly large wooden door, but Louis walked out with a camera slung around his neck before his knuckles could graze the wood. Harry stammered, feet shifting, and mouth parting awkwardly as he slowly lowered his hand.

"Hi," Louis says.

Harry was about to say something, but instead he chuckled awkwardly and scratched the back of his head. "Can I come in?"

If Louis looked surprised he hid it well. He opened the door that was half-way closed and stepped aside for Harry to walk in.

"You seem troubled," Louis notes.

Harry shrugged. "You got anything I can drink?"

"I've got Coke in the fridge—"

"Harder than that."

"Um. It's two-thirty."

Harry shrugged and walked into his kitchen, expecting a cart of some expensive bourbon, but everything was tidy and put away. Louis stared at him from the doorframe suspiciously. He felt like he was going insane searching for alcohol, but he needed the taste on his tongue.

"I just need, like, a shot. Or two. I really fucked up."

Louis stood still for a moment, contemplating Harry's words, before he pushes himself off the doorframe and heads to a cabinet by the fridge. He pulled out a clear glass cup, and a glass bottle with brown liquid in it. He stood opposite to Harry by the island and poured a small amount of liquid into the glass.

Harry grabbed it without another thought and downed it. It tasted like a mixture between oak and caramel, and smoothly went down his throat. He had a feeling it was a very expensive bourbon. "Another?" he questioned, sliding the glass back. 

"Tell me what's wrong first," Louis said.

Harry huffed and rubbed a hand over his face. "You're not doing anything wrong. I'm legal. I can go to the pub and get a drink, but I'm not. I'm safely here with you. Just give me another."

Louis furrowed his brows. "Absolutely not. You can't just demand me around in my own bloody house and drink my bourbon that cost me five-hundred quid."

Harry grumbled unhappily under his breath. "Why would you spend that much?"

"Didn't you just try it? It's fantastic."

Harry crosses his arms. "I'm having a hard time finding a date to the dance," he lies. The words spilled from his mouth without another thought, and his shoulders hunched even more. He hates to lie. Harry's pretty sure telling Louis about something like what he did could only drag him into the situation. He didn't know what to do.

"Ah," Louis says. "Teenagers and their need to be in relationships." Louis poured Harry a little bit more of the drink and slowly passed it to him. 

Harry gratefully takes it and sips on it this time. "Yeah. That."

"Anyone that's caught your fancy? Dance is coming up soon."

Harry tried to push all of his worry into this made-up situation he was telling. He frowned and shrugged. "Not really. I'll just go by myself like a loser. I'll hang out with the nerds. I'll fit in."

"You're not a nerd," Louis said with a roll of his eyes. "Stop pressuring yourself. Relationship's aren't all what they're cracked up to be." 

Harry watched as Louis grabbed himself a glass and drank his expensive bourbon with a toss of his head. He licked his lips afterward, and Harry found himself staring at them. They were thin and red, and now wet from his tongue. They looked smooth. Harry wondered if girls had smooth lips like that.

"How many relationships have you been in?" Harry asked, finally tearing his gaze away from Louis' mouth. He downed his drink.

Louis poured more into Harry's glass and his own. "Not a lot."

"That's all I get? I need some real advice here, Louis! Something from an experienced man like yourself is sure to help me."

Harry tried to tell himself he wasn't a lightweight, but the third glass of bourbon running down his throat left his feet tingly. He's definitely tipsy. He hadn't had lunch either, and maybe he was drinking too fast. He pushed his glass to the side, signaling he was done to Louis' relief. He didn't need to be plastered when talking to the police, just needed enough to take the edge off.

"You don't need advice. Just flip your hair around and wait for the ladies to come running."

Harry flipped his hair. Nothing happened.

"Not here, dipshit," Louis laughed out and pushed his drink to the side. He leaned over the island and ruffled Harry's hair. "I don't see how you have girl troubles."

Harry furrowed his brows and tilted his head. Of course he has girl troubles. He's not anyone special. He then sighed once he caught a look at the time. A clock rested on the wall, showing it to be three o'clock. Eventually he had to be home, and he had to face what he'd done. He'd have to suffer the consequences. Slowly he stands, reluctant. 

"Thanks for the drink. I should get home."

Louis nods. "Need a ride?"

Harry shook his head a little too quickly. He wasn't drunk. He can walk perfectly fine. It took a lot of alcohol to make things fuzzy and confused for him, so he had no problem walking home by himself. He preferred it anyway. 

So that's what he did: he walked home with his heart in the lowest parts of his stomach, and constantly swallowed lumps and the urge to throw up. When he finally arrived, it was just as he assumed, no matter how hard he pushed away his nervous thoughts. A familiar car and a police car was waiting in his driveway. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, because what? How could he do this? He can't run from it, he knows. 

He wishes he drank more.

Dreadfully he opens the door. He first sees his mother, who looks rather well. She's wearing makeup and a navy blue dress, and her hair's brushed. His dad is sitting in the recliner, and a policeman is sitting on the couch by his mother. Harry's knees shake when he walks over to the chair beside the couch, and he nearly falls onto the chair when he reaches it due to his knees giving out. 

He clears his throat. "Hey," he says to his mum. He didn't know what the hell to do.

"I'm Officer Davis. I assume you know why we're here. Don't try to deny it, Harry, we have plenty of witnesses," the policeman says. 

He looks young. He had on a hat that covered most of his hair, but he could see the light hair spilling out below it. A thick mustache rested above his lip, and he had stress lines on his forehead. He looked muscular, which only scared Harry even more. 

His eyes darted to his dad, who looked expressionless, and then they drifted back to the cop. He nodded with a gulp.

His mother gasped.

"Not pressing charges," his dad mumbled. Harry was shocked. 

Officer Davis clasped his hands together. "I've known your father for a long time, Harry," he says, as if it's an honor. "Since we're friends, I'll let you off the hook. But only if you meet your father's demands."

"I—" Harry starts, confused, but his father cut him off.

"You'll come over for dinner once a week. You'll talk to me about your schoolwork and you'll do so without a complaint."

Harry's hands clenched. 

"If you don't comply, I will personally make it my mission to be riding your ass every chance I get," Officer Davis says. "What's that I smell on your breath, Harry? Should I write you up for public intoxication? You're so drunk I've gotten five calls about you being a disturbance to the public already."

Harry's eyes widened. What the fuck. "I'll do it," he quickly says. 

They both stood after the words tumbled from Harry's lips. His dad patted his shoulder on the way out. "I'll see you every Wednesday night, then."

As soon as they left Harry burst into tears. He dragged himself over to his mum, who wrapped an arm around him and patted his head soothingly. "I'm so sorry," he sobbed out. She shushed him. "I was just so angry! I hate him!"

His mother tightly held him. He felt like a child crying to his mum like this. "It's okay, Harry. One meal a week won't kill you. Just be glad no charges were pressed." She lifted his head and swept his hair out of his face. "My sweet boy. Thank you for what you did, even if it was horrible." She kissed his forehead.

He laughed and wiped his eyes. "I have to be the man of the house now. Something had to be done." Harry's frown returned. "He brought in a fuckin' policeman to intimidate me into going along with what he wanted," he states plainly, the frown never leaving his features. What kind of father did that kind of thing?

"We don't need protection, Harry. I'm your mother. I'll handle things. Just be a kid before you can't anymore," she says, a forced smile on her lips. "And I didn't expect anything less. He's a horrible man."

Harry chewed on his lower lip and nodded. He hoped his mum wouldn't crawl back to her bed and hide there anymore; he couldn't handle taking care of everything right now. And she seemed to have read his mind.

"I won't hide out anymore. I'm over it."

He looked between her eyes to figure out if she was lying, but he couldn't tell. She seemed suddenly strong. "Good," he muttered. 

"I'm gonna call the girls and get things rolling for that dance of yours! I've been slacking!" She hopped up and headed for the phone. She chose the numbers carefully, turning them and watching the dial roll back each time. "Rhea!" She happily greeted.

Harry sunk into the couch and rested his head on his arm. He was drained. The alcohol made him sleepy and the sudden crying wore him out. He hoped when he awoke from the nap that was about to consume him, he'd realize everything that happened was just a dream. Or that he could dream of a perfect life, with the perfect family, where he didn't have any troubles whatsoever. That would be something he wished to not wake up from.


	10. 9.

Harry's life was beginning to seem dull. The dance was tomorrow night—and he was starting to dread it. It's his last Fall dance as a senior, which should have him excited for it. He doesn't know if he wants to attend prom, and with how he's currently feeling, it doesn't seem likely. So, this could actually be his last dance.

Dinner at his father's was terrible and awkward. He was forced to talk to his mistress, who was twenty-six. If his mum and dad started having kids earlier, she could have been his sister. Her name was Elaine, and she wore an uncomfortably tight dress that was puffed out at her waist and tight on her chest. It slightly resembled something out of a fifties magazine. It also dipped and showed things Harry didn't want to see. 

Elaine was overly sweet and cooked an elaborate meal of roast, potatoes, buttered rolls, and sides of vegetables he'd never had before. And then she made a custard for dessert. Harry hated that he enjoyed the meal and felt like he was betraying his mum.

His father talked down on Anne for most of the night. The amount of times he'd bitten his tongue and pierced his skin by digging his fingernails into his palms to keep from lashing out was a number too high to count. His dad hadn't changed. When Harry was encouraged to speak about school and the bakery and friends, his father would shoot him down and tell him how his life should be going since he's a man now. He said at eighteen he was already a manager at some company that Harry didn't care to remember the name of. 

Although the night was the most awful three hours he'd endured, he was still nice and even offered to help with cleaning up. His father grumbled that men smoke with a glass of bourbon after dinner, not clean where the ladies cooked. Harry had ignored him.

"Thank you," Elaine had said. She had leaned against the counter and crossed a black heeled shoe over the other. Her hand was at her back, as if she couldn't breathe in the tight dress. "I know things must be difficult and that you probably hate me. Still, I thank you for coming tonight. Your father adores you."

Harry had scoffed at her words. "He does not."

She had turned to face him. "No, he really does. He's always talking about you and was so excited for this evening. Even if you did burn his valuables."

"Doesn't show it," he'd muttered. 

Elaine had helped dry the dishes and she didn't say anything of importance after that. His dad drove him home in silence, told him he'd see him next week, and left him in the driveway. 

The rest of the week went by horribly slow. He was sure he'd failed his math test he'd studied so hard for, which made him feel even worse. He would go home, where things were adjusting to their new normal, but stay in his room and stare at the suit he was supposed to wear for the dance. He didn't want to go. Especially since Liam and Niall had their dates to hang out with. 

He was currently walking down the hall to get to his next class, which was a boring English class that he hated, when a beautiful strum of a guitar stopped him in his tracks. He stared at the door to the music room that was closed, and tried to listen closely. Whoever it was picked the guitar flawlessly, in a blues-y tone that scaled up and down the guitar. Harry's heart fluttered. His hand was inching toward the knob without really thinking about it. He was just aching to see who was in the room, playing so beautifully, so he cracked the door open and tried to see inside the room. It was dark, though, and Harry's eyes couldn't see much through the crack of the door, so he opened it up more, and instantly the music stopped. Harry had no choice but to open to door fully and apologize. 

The only light that spilled into the room was from the windows, and since it was a cloudy day, it didn't offer much light. Harry scanned the room, and finally, his eyes found the boy with a guitar in his hands. Dark hair fanned out over his eyes, which were a chocolate brown. His squared jaw was clenched, and he was clearly unhappy with being interrupted.

"I'm sorry," Harry started. He tightened his hands over the book he held to his chest. "I didn't mean to intrude. I just heard you playing. Really cool, mate."

His features somewhat softened. He put a blue pick between his teeth and stood, walked near Harry, and switched on the light. "No problem," he muttered. He took the guitar strap off his shoulder and went to put it on a stand. 

Harry awkwardly bit his lip. "How did you learn?"

The boy looked over at him and sat on top of the desk in the room. Harry can't remember seeing him around, and wondered if he was a new teacher. But the longer he stared, the clearer it became that he was too young to be a teacher. He wore a leather jacket with a white t-shirt underneath, and light-colored bluejeans that somewhat hung to his legs tightly. Harry cleared his throat and stared at his face, which was absolutely stunning. Harry hated to think that word, especially since this boy isn't a girl, but it was true. His naturally tanned skin appeared to be glowing under the harsh fluorescent lighting. 

"Uh," he spoke, almost shyly. "Taught myself over the years, I guess."

Harry nodded. He's never met anyone that knew how to play the guitar. He was just so fascinated that he couldn't help himself but be curious. "I've always wanted to learn how to play."

The boy looks over at him and shrugs slightly. He seemed embarrassed, but Harry didn't know why. He was about to turn to leave, feeling too intrusive, but a moment before he did, the boy said: "I'm Zayn."

Harry slightly waved. "I'm Harry. I haven't seen you around before."

"I just moved here. Been here about a week." Zayn ruffled a hand through his thick hair and swept it to the side. 

"That's awful to start in the middle of the semester. Senior?" Zayn nodded. "Even worse." Harry lingered around for a second, but then started to back away. "Well, I guess I'll see you around?" he didn't know why he said it as if it was a question. Of course he'd see him around.

"Yeah. Hey, if you need any pointers," he motioned to the guitar, "you can come ask me. I'll probably always be in here."

Harry thanked him, smiled, and stepped out. He shut the door quietly behind himself and walked into his English class late. 

———

Harry bought his tequila a few days prior to the dance in preparation. And a flask. It was squared and silver, and small enough to tuck into the inside pocket of his blue jacket without raising suspicion. He was very excited about getting drunk and dancing carelessly, if that meant anything. He was also glad Louis was going to be there. Even if he was working at it and couldn't talk to him the whole night, he's sure sneaking in a few conversations in between pictures and filming would make Harry feel better. Surely. 

His mother insisted on taking his picture, which he found highly embarrassing. It was ridiculous to take a picture without a date on his hip, and he really didn't want to remember anything about this night. He was sure of it. But he smiled as happily as he could, because if anything, he wanted to remember how good he looked in this suit.

"Be good, Harry," Anne said as she kissed him on the cheek. "Don't come home too drunk, please."

Harry slightly giggled with a shake of his head. A car honked outside, signaling Liam had arrived, so he hurried out with a wave and joined Liam in his dad's vehicle. Liam continued to feel bad about Niall and Lily meeting up with them before the dance for dinner, so he insisted to at least drive Harry to the dance. He accepted without much of an argument. 

Olivia was in the front seat with a pretty pink dress that had puffy short-sleeves and a low-dipped neckline. She looked wonderful. Liam looked wonderful too, with a gray suit decorating his body. There was a pink shirt under his gray vest which was underneath his suit jacket, and the collar popped out above the suit to tie into Olivia's dress. It was really cute that they tried to match their outfits.

"Hi, Olivia," says Harry. "You look beautiful. You too, Liam."

Liam snorted and backed out of his driveway. Harry leaned back with a laugh and smoothed over his velvety blue top with a sweaty hand. He tries to not overthink everything, and forces to make light conversation with Liam and Olivia on the way there. If he isn't going to have a good time, he'll at least pretend like he is to fool everyone. He doesn't need anyone's pity—he already has Liam's. Why else would he offer to drive him? He knows he might feel left out, and he is. He doesn't have a date. 

Whatever. 

He's fine.

The drive was short and it was dark out, the moon lighting up the night with a happy glow. They all tumbled out of the vehicle and headed to the gym, where he cringed at the banner in the entryway. Under The Stars, it read. Nothing that hadn't been done before. 

His mum was over most of the dance theme. Basically, she and other parents and students coordinated everything. Harry walked inside and distanced himself from Liam and Olivia, who were holding hands, and waited for them to walk in before handing his ticket over to the pimply freshman sitting at a table in front of the gym doors.

"Have fun," he squeaked out. Harry smiled at him and walked in.

He instantly looks up in awe; it looked like stars were falling from the ceiling. Blue lights dangled above him, which lit up the room with a gentle, blue hue. Streamers were attached to some of the stars and reflected its light, and honestly, if he didn't look too hard, it looked like shooting stars. Even the walls matched the star theme, with sparkly painted cardboard (he thinks) cut into the rightful shapes. It was extravagant for a Fall dance, but he didn't expect anything less from his mum. The band was playing rock music, which Harry highly approved of, and he found himself standing on his tiptoes to see if he could spot Niall in the crowd. They'd arrived about thirty minutes late because it would've been ridiculous to arrive early. No one cool arrives early—even if Liam, Niall, and Harry, are the lamest boys in school.

He walked past pretty girls in short and long dresses, and surprisingly spotted Louis before finding anyone else. He was standing behind a camera which was propped up on a stand, and snapped a picture at a posing couple. Harry admired the backdrop: it was black with blue and gold and white stars sewn onto it. When Louis was done snapping pictures, Harry moved over to him and elbowed his side.

"Don't you look handsome," Louis says.

Harry holds his arms out and does a cheeky spin. Then he stares at Louis' outfit: a sleek black suit with a skinny black tie to contrast against the white button-down. "You too." He stared weirdly at his thighs, and wondered why they looked so good in the black pants, and why he was even thinking about that.

"Get your picture!" He says, motioning to the backdrop. "You wanna remember this night."

"I don't," he mumbles. He dips a hand into the pocket inside his jacket and flashes him the flask resting safely inside. "Got this just for that purpose."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Teenagers."

Harry ducks down beside Louis, using him as a shield so that he could take a quick swig of the tequila. If Mr. Patterson was chaperoning, it was highly likely to be snuffed out. He was always busting people for sneaking in alcohol.

"Come find me when you're not busy," Harry muttered to him. He plastered a wide smile on his lips before turning around and losing himself in a crowd of people.

———

Over the course of different songs, Harry had witnessed people go from grinding on each other, to romantic slow dances, to insane dance moves that teenagers shouldn't know how to do. Harry kept drinking from his flask, but made sure to take swigs over long periods of time. He didn't want to get drunk quickly, but slowly and casually so that he wouldn't draw attention to himself. He's sure someone else would be drunk before he was, and then the attention wouldn't be on him if he started stumbling around.

Harry surprisingly danced with a few people he'd never met. They were younger and probably willing to dance with any guy, but he didn't mind. He was tipsy—on the verge of being drunk—but happy. Elated, even. He didn't care if people looked at him strangely for his dumb dance moves, or judged him for not having a date. Eventually he had found Niall and Lily. Niall fashionably wore a brown suit with a yellow shirt underneath; Lily matched the yellow with a long dress that complimented the curves on her body, and really, Lily was completely out of Niall's league. He won't be the one to tell him that, though.

He somehow danced in between Niall, Liam, and their dates. It was fun. He'd given them his flask in between songs, all taking turns swigging from it when the girls went off to dance together. 

"Did you see Lily!" Niall shouted over the guitar solo happening on stage. 

Liam and Harry both nodded, and he tried to keep his rhythm to the music as he danced around. 

"She's totally out of your league!" Liam shouted.

Harry had hit him on the shoulder for saying that, but Niall nodded with his loud, Irish cackle. "Hell yeah, she is! Got me-self a fuckin' model, lads!"

After the girls returned, it was almost as if the band waited for them to start on a slow song. He watched his mates grab their girls with infatuation, and Harry tried to not appear awkward or hurt by the sudden shift around him. Everyone had grabbed their ladies to dance with. He finally excused himself, claiming he was tired and that his feet hurt, so he made towards the bleachers on the side of the gym. He threw his velvet jacket off due to the sweat which was dripping down his back with a sigh. Conveniently, his pant pockets were large enough to hold his flask. That was all that mattered.

Before taking his seat on the bleachers, he fetched himself an actual drink to coat his dry throat from dancing and only consuming straight tequila. It cooled him down instantly.

"Dances are ridiculous."

Harry turned with narrowed eyes, the heat from the alcohol turning his face red. Zayn was staring at him from a few bleacher seats back, wearing the same leather jacket Harry had seen the day before.

"At least the music's good," Harry hummed out.

"Those Pink Floyd wannabe's can't even tap their foots to the right rhythm," Zayn snorted out.

"Why don't you go up there and show 'em how it's done, then?"

Zayn laughs and scoots down a bench with a shake of his head. "I'm too much of a perfectionist to be in a band that doesn't care when their drummer hits the wrong cymbal's."

Harry's mind is foggy from the alcohol, so he only shrugs in response. He was too busy dancing to notice if the music didn't flow well together. The band did look young, so maybe the more they practiced, the more potential they had. They're probably just some locals who get together and jam in a basement—which is more than what Harry will ever have.

"Would you teach me the guitar?" Harry blurted out and then leaned his head back awkwardly to look up at Zayn. The tequila running through his veins made him more confident than usual. 

Zayn quirked an eyebrow. "I don't really teach people how to play."

"But I'll pay you," Harry quickly said. "However much you want, mate!"

Zayn's eyes trailed over his features. "I dunno. Talk to me when you're sober."

Zayn left the bleachers without another word. Harry only shrugged to himself and snuck another swig from his flask. Then a familiar boy walked over with a camera pressed to his face, his finger holding down on a button to the Super 8 film camera, which Harry assumed was recording him. He cheekily lifted his flask. Louis stopped recording when he chugged it swiftly.

"Slow down, Harry," Louis lightly said. He took a seat beside him. "Having a good time?"

"I suppose so. Should probably have a wee soon, though."

He laughed. "Yeah. Probably."

Harry stared at him. Louis seemed to be glowing under the the fake stars from above. The lights complimented his eyes, danced on his lashes, and licked sweetly at his cheekbones. He really is glowing—sweat would never look so fairy-like. Louis carried himself with a poise that Harry was drawn to, his twinkling eyes looking out at the dancers before them, before they settled over Harry's features. And goddamn him and those beautiful blue eyes, which are always bright and so blue. He knows he always compares them to ocean waters, but truthfully, they're so much more complex than that. There's traces of green in the blue, and Harry wants to create clothes and art and anything wonderful with the color of his eyes as his inspiration. 

Quickly he clears his throat and looks away. Boys don't notice these things.

He stands up a little too quickly and found himself off-balance; firm hands wrap around his upper arm to steady him, and Harry thanked Louis with a smile and said he was going to the loo before stumbling off. 

He wasn't drunk enough. His thoughts, though jumbled, were still far too clear in his head. He just wanted to dance and drink and forget about his life for a few hours. Forget about Louis' eyes. Was that too much to ask for?

After he emptied his bladder, he made his way out with a frown. Louis was waiting beside the bathroom door and he rolled his eyes. "I don't need a babysitter."

"I know. You're just being weird," Louis muttered.

The music was still loud in the hallway they were standing in. It was darker, so he used the shadows to his advantage by blurting out something he normally wouldn't have. But maybe Louis can't make out his expressions, because he can barely see Louis'. 

"Dad cheated on mum. That's why I've been weird lately. I lied the other day at your house. I wasn't worried about a girl. I could care less about girls. I also burned my dad's things in his girlfriend's yard like a psycho."

Harry sat down against the wall and hung his head. His eyes prickled with tears for some reason, so he scratched his eyes to sneakily wipe them away. The emotions from his upside-down life is taking a toll on him, otherwise he never would have dramatically slidden down a wall with tears in his eyes in front of the older boy. And he didn't want to cry in front of Louis. He didn't want to appear weak like a little child, because he doesn't want Louis viewing him as some kid. He already calls him Young Harry, and even though it's always jokingly, he wants Louis to view him as an equal.

Louis slowly sat beside Harry with a sigh, his hand reaching out to pat his drawn up knee softly. "I'm sorry, Harry."

Harry stares at the hand on his knee, and lets the warmth from his palm flush through his leg. Louis' touch was hot and it made his heartbeat pound in his chest. And the words Louis spoke made Harry think back to the conversation they had in his room about Louis' dad, when he'd said he was sorry for his loss. Why do people say sorry when bad things happen to others? Harry didn't want Louis to say sorry. He wants something else, something he doesn't quite know how to put into words. He just wants a weight lifted from his shoulders and drinking wasn't doing it for him. 

It's so fucking frustrating to have an ache in your chest for something you're not sure of, and he's tired of carrying the uncertainties of the world on his shoulders.

"Whatever," Harry mumbles. It's all he could say.

Slow music crept into the hallway, filling the silence between them and bouncing off the walls. He closed his eyes and let the electric picking from the guitar soothe him. It was soft. Delicate. Probably some love song. No one played a guitar like that unless love was involved.

"Here," Louis says. He stands up and holds out his hand. Harry stares at it, examines it cautiously as if it could disappear, before tentatively sliding his hand into Louis' and letting him pull him up. "Don't think, Harry."

His brows quickly drew in. "Huh?"

In the dark hallway, he didn't see Louis' hands snake around his waist but felt it. Harry's eyes went wide. He didn't fight it for some reason, and instead looked around to see if anyone could see them. It was too dark to tell, so he assumes if there were people in the hallway, they couldn't see them. 

"Just dance. Don't think," he repeats.

Harry's hands stay at his side for a minute. Louis' hands were hot against his back, firmly holding him and trying to get him to sway to the music. Fingertips dug into his skin, and holy shit, he's never been touched like this. It was simple, soft, but the firmness and intention was all there. His mind was whirring and he felt dizzy, but Louis kept him steady. Finally, he drew his hands up around Louis' neck. It only felt right, and he didn't want to deny Louis of whatever he was thinking of. His mum raised a gentleman, after all. But he still couldn't bring himself to look him in the eye, so he stared to the side. 

"You're a boy," Harry mutters out. The words roll off his tongue and tasted of the alcohol he had been drinking. But he didn't know what else to say. Thoughts were swimming around his brain, and that was the only tangible thing it could grab to for him to say. He didn't know why he was swaying with Louis in the dark, and he didn't know why it didn't feel wrong.

He didn't know a lot of things.

"Really? I thought I had boobs this whole time."

Harry cracks a smile and turns his head to finally look at Louis, who was already staring at him. Louis' smiling, eyes curious and happy as he stares at the dark pupils caused by the lack of light. His insides were melting. Harry's never felt this way, and he's never been so close to a person before. He could feel Louis' breath fan over his face, and could see the slight wrinkles by his eyes from when he smiled. Harry's heart was thudding so hard he thought he was going to pass out. He didn't really understand what was going on, or why Louis looked so handsome, and why he was noticing all these things. 

Louis, on the other hand, appears calm and collected. He didn't look worried at all. He didn't look like he was overthinking; he looked like dancing with a boy was natural. Like he does it all the time. He looks happy, even, to be holding Harry so close. His eyes were still twinkling in the goddamn dark. How? He didn't understand a fucking thing, but Louis' lack of worry and calmness eased Harry. So, he pressed his eyes tightly closed and tried to listen to Louis when he said not to think, but it was harder said than done. Then he felt Louis' thumbs press down against his hips through the fabric of his shirt in a rubbing motion—Harry thought he was definitely going to faint. Did he imagine that? No. No, because he did it again. Such soft and gentle motions had his breathing shaky, and he was silently praying that Louis didn't notice it. 

"I—" Harry starts, mouth open, eyes wide open. He didn't know what to say, though. Something was fluttering around in his stomach and he felt bad for caving into the feeling. 

Sinking. 

Falling.

Surrounding himself in this feeling, in Louis, in his hot hands and soft touches. In the breath that smelled minty and fluttered over his face. In the ocean that was his eyes, and the waves that washed over him when he looked at them. But this it wrong—it had to be. It felt so good to be held, to be close to another person like this—hell, to be close to Louis. How can it be wrong when it feels this good? "This is wrong," he quietly says, because the war going on in his brain was getting too hard not to voice. 

But Louis didn't seem fazed. "It doesn't have to be."

And Harry thinks he tripped. He stumbled. That's how it happened. That's how his lips ended up on Louis', and maybe something was broken because he couldn't seem to move. So he stumbled onto Louis' mouth and broke a leg. 

Surely. 

Louis' hand came up to Harry's cheek and caressed it softly, while smooth lips worked against Harry's lazy ones. He didn't know what he was doing or if he was even kissing him correctly, but if he wasn't, Louis didn't seem to notice—or even care. And he didn't have to do much, thankfully. Louis' lips worked against Harry's in a soft and slow movement, guiding him with ease. Harry completely melted against Louis and accidentally bumped his nose with his own when he tilted his head. Louis' mouth tasted like peppermint and felt like silk on his lips. It was wonderful. It was cozy and right, and Harry couldn't get enough. He wanted more, but didn't know how to get it. His grip behind Louis' neck tightened, fingers pressing deeper against his skin, and somehow that communicated everything he couldn't say.

His back hit the wall behind him and he released a noise he'd never made before, a low rumble escaping his throat. Their lips were entwined with one another's. The music was drowned out and replaced with breathless noises and whimpers, and now, Harry thinks it's his favorite song. He can get lost in these noises. He can dance to the orchestra that is Louis' mouth, the beats that are his fingers, and the lyrics that he and Louis are singing with their whines. Louis' fingers then found Harry's hips and he pushed himself against him, bodies desperate to be close. Harry couldn't keep his fingers still, and found them moving underneath Louis' arms to wrap around his back and feel of the way the muscles contracted against his shirt. It made them impossibly closer—and he wouldn't want it any other way. 

This would be a guitar solo, he thinks. One he would turn up loudly and get lost in; it's always the best part of a song, the way it can intensify it and bring such emotion without the convenience of lyrics. Louis' desperation was the best guitar solo he's ever had the pleasure of getting lost in. He couldn't breathe, and found himself stealing Louis' breath because he didn't want to pull away. He slightly pouted his lips unintentionally, and Louis noticed, because his tongue swiped at it before playfully nipping it with his teeth. Harry released a throaty groan.

Louis finally pulled away with heavy breaths and Harry's head fell back against the wall. His mind fuzzed; his body tingled. His blood felt like fire coursing through his veins, hot all over and drying his mouth out. Holy shit. 

Holy shit...

He just kissed a boy. 

As if Louis could read his mind, he stepped back and Harry's eyes went wide. He slowly ran a finger over his mouth and felt of his swollen lips. Harry looked at Louis' lips and found they were also swollen, and so red. If there were any traces of alcohol left in his body, he couldn't feel it. He was too aware of everything. Aware of the groans he'd made when he kissed Louis, and of the feeling that had made his pants embarrassingly tighter. The melody he got lost in when they kissed ended swiftly, and dread replaced it. It felt as if bricks landed on his shoulders, causing him to hunch and snap back to reality way too harshly. 

"I'm sorry," Louis says, as if it's his fault.

But Harry's the one that kissed him. It's not his fault. 

Trembling fingers ran through his hair and he felt frozen in his spot, lips parting but no words tumbling out. More bricks fell onto his shoulders. Why can't he ever be certain about anything? Why is everything so confusing in his life? He just kissed Louis, and as wonderful and melodious as it felt, he now feels like he needs a cold shower and a long prayer. 

"I—I've got to—get away. I—" Harry stuttered out. He didn't know what he needed. But maybe getting away from Louis would clear his thoughts, so that's what he did. He walked away, leaving Louis without another look, and harshly pushing open the door to the cold outside. He suddenly remembers he left his jacket, but there was no way in hell he was going back inside after what just happened. He thinks he felt more bricks adding to the weight on his shoulders, his head—his entire body. 

As weightless as kissing Louis Tomlinson felt, he knew he could never do that again.


	11. 10.

He told his mum that he couldn't work Sunday and that he was ill. She didn't ask questions, because usually if he said he was ill, he was. 

And it wasn't meant to be a lie. He felt like he could throw up at any moment, so he's certain he's coming down with something. His mum asked if he had a lot to drink at the dance, but he said he hadn't. Sure, it wasn't like he didn't drink, but not enough to make him sick the next day. He found himself scrubbing his lips with his toothbrush the next morning, but it only made them red and puffy and it reminded him of the lips that were on his the night before. And he's not insane—he only scrubbed his mouth because it seemed like he could taste peppermint. Not the peppermint of his toothpaste, either—Louis' peppermint.

He's laying in bed, on his stomach, and with a pillow tucked underneath his chin. His yellow walls appeared dull. He remembered the moment he told his mum he wanted to paint his walls yellow. A firm no from his dad was enough for his mother to take her hard-earned money and buy the paint and rollers herself. It was always his favorite color; it was a hopeful color. One that he looked at and would always feel a sudden wash of calmness. But the more he stares, the more his mind wanders to last night: Louis' lips. The fingertips digging into his hips. Louis' front pressing into his own. Teeth on his lower lip.

Suddenly Harry turns over in bed and stares at the ceiling. Fuck his yellow walls, and fuck Louis Tomlinson. He didn't need this added confusion in his life.

"Harry." Gemma's voice floats through the door, a knock coming a second later.

"Go away," he mumbles.

"No." He hears the door open but doesn't move to look at his sister. He can hear footsteps come closer to his bed, and soon, hair is hitting his face as Gemma peers over at him. "You're really hungover, aren't you?"

He waves her hair away, lazily sits up, and then crosses his legs on his bed. "Sure."

Gemma's brows lower and she sits on his bed. "Liar. What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong, Gem! Just leave me alone." He frowns and tries to stand his ground by staring her in the eye.

"Did you fuck someone?"

Harry's eyes went wide. "No! Of course not!"

"I was just asking!" She says with a shrug of her shoulders. "Look, just... You can talk to me. I've probably done worse. And since I'm twenty tomorrow, I don't want you so down about life. Get it all out while I'm still a teenager."

His face softens at the mention of her birthday. "It's... Something I can't tell you. It's something I don't understand. How can I tell you if I don't understand it?"

Gemma shrugs. "Sometimes talking about it helps clear your head."

Harry thinks for a moment, and even doing that makes his head hurt. Then he remembered Louis telling him not to think, and what had happened after he'd said that, so he realizes that either way he's screwed. "I kissed someone last night."

Gemma gasps and reaches over to shove his shoulder. "Harry, that's fantastic!" She stares at his frowning features and shakes her head. "Not fantastic."

"It was a mistake. And I feel strange. Like, I think enjoyed it, but I shouldn't have. At all," Harry quietly says. "It was a mistake."

His sister watches the battle he's having with his thoughts. He knows this because he's always been an open book, and he wishes he wasn't in this very moment. 

"I'm sure it wasn't. You've never kissed anyone, so if you kissed this person—it must've meant something."

Harry didn't want to hear that. He felt like he was going to cry. "Can I just...be alone?"

Gemma nods and stands with a sigh. She lingers at the door, but doesn't say anything when she shuts it behind herself. Harry falls back onto the bed and squeezes his eyes closed. The first thing that he sees behind his lids are Louis' lips.

———

School was dreadful. Everywhere he saw Louis, which made him feel like he was losing his mind. When he walked down the hallway, where it happened... He was definitely dying on the inside. He's not a fairy, which is what everyone will call him if they find out he kissed a guy. He's not gay! He repeats this in his head when those thoughts come back. You're not a fairy, you're not a fairy, you're not a fairy... He's not. It was a silly mistake, and he's just a horny teenager. That's all it was.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to even go to work. Gemma was picking up longer shifts because of him, and he felt horrible, but he couldn't risk seeing Louis. How in the world would that conversation go? "Hey, Louis, sorry I snogged ya! I'm totally not gay, by the way!" No. It would be terribly awkward. And Louis kissed him back! Maybe it was out of sympathy. He had told him that he'd never kissed anyone before, so he did it out of pity. That's it—a pity kiss. And now he can never show his face in public ever again.

In Mr. Porter's Math class, all Harry could do was run a finger over his mouth and daydream about the kiss. It already felt like an addiction, one that he didn't give the opportunity to indulge fully. He enjoyed being touched, being harshly pushed against a wall, being wanted. Even if Louis gave him a pity kiss, it was the most alive he'd ever felt. 

You're not a fairy, you're not a fairy, you're not a fairy.

He wanted to push Louis against a wall, but not in a good way. He wanted to hurt him for making these thoughts appear and not go away. Harry pulled harshly at his hair; he then thought of Louis doing that in the middle of a kiss and had to stop, and result to pinching his thigh instead. That'll work.

By the end of the day, Harry's thigh was covered in bruises (by his own doing), and his head hurt.

"Happy birthday," he said to Gemma once he got home. "I have your gift upstairs." He lazily walked upstairs and slung his backpack off and onto the bed. He rummaged through some junk where he hid the gift, and then walked back downstairs once the yellow-wrapped box was in his grasp.

She opened it excitedly, without waiting on their mum to watch, and she gasped once she saw what was inside. "Harry, this must've cost you a fortune."

Harry shrugged. He bought her a simple butterfly necklace, because he remembered her rambling on about butterflies one day. Something about how they're always evolving and free. So, he went to the local jewelry store to see what he could find. It wasn't too expensive; it's not like it had diamonds or anything. Just a silver butterfly. 

She hugged him and he hugged back with a soft smile. "It wasn't a problem."

"I love it! Help me put it on." She turned around and flung her hair to the side. He took hold of the necklace, clasped it together, and watched her spin around in adoration. He started to feel better about himself. "Beautiful," she whispered.

Anne walked in with a smile, but her eyes fell to the box in Gemma's hand and she frowned. "You opened a gift without me!"

Harry and Gemma couldn't help but laugh.

The rest of the evening consisted of gifts, laughter, cake, and wine. Harry didn't feel like drinking, so he left the wine for his sister and mum. He cleaned while the girls bonded, and couldn't help but feel happy. Gemma seemed to be getting along with their mother, which is what he's wanted for a long time. Sure, his mother can be strict sometimes, but she's trying her hardest. Gemma's finally seeing that. 

The night ended with a call from their father who wished Gemma a happy birthday, and after the tidying up was done, Harry found himself upstairs in his room. He's sure Gemma was going to sneak out to the actual party her friends were putting on, so he didn't care to stay up and chat when she was going to be heading out.

As soon as he got comfortable in his bed, Gemma burst into his room wearing a gold, sparkly dress that reaches a bit far above her knees, and flares out at the sleeves. She looks pretty.

"Get up, we're going dancing."

Harry frowns. "It's a school night. Go party with your friends."

"No. You're gonna stop moping around and come to the club with me. Now!"

Harry rolls his eyes. "Who's all going?"

"My boyfriend, Steve, and Jenny, Lea, Zayn, Barry, Cleo, Matty—"

"Zayn? Dark hair, leather jacket?" Harry questions. Gemma nods suspiciously. "How do you know him? He's in my grade."

"Oh, right. Forgot about that. Um, he kinda fell in with us because he's Jenny's new neighbor and they smoke together. He's quiet. I don't really know much about him, but he's been nice so I invited him tonight."

Harry nodded and got out of bed. Knowing one of her friends made it a little more enticing, so what's the harm? It is her birthday. He doesn't want to disappoint her on her twentieth. So, he changes into flared jeans and tucks a white shirt into them, with a blue, striped jacket for warmth. Gemma was waiting outside by the door, and when he left the room, she stared him down and nodded with approval. Together they walked down the stairs and outside, where Harry was surprised with a Volkswagen van full of her friends. And Zayn.

Gemma hopped in the passengers seat and lovingly kissed the boy that was driving. Harry stood awkwardly outside, staring at the tan colored van, and feeling like he wasn't supposed to be doing this. These are her friends, not his.

Then the side-doors swung open, and a girl with tightly curled hair and dark skin grinned at Harry. "Hello, handsome," she says, still holding a smile. "I'm Jenny. You comin' with us tonight?" Harry nods shyly. "Well, come on, then! Let me introduce you to everyone!"

She grabbed him by the jacket and pulled him inside the van, where a group of people stared at him. He awkwardly cleared his throat and found an open seat by a red-head. It appears the regular seating that normally would be in this van were ripped out and replaced with leather sofas on the opposing walls. It left the floor open, and made it easier to see everyone. Steve put the van in reverse, backed out, and started to drive to the club; Harry didn't exactly know where they were going since there wasn't a club in Charlesden. 

"That's Cleo," Jenny says as she points to the red-head beside Harry. He slightly waved. "That's Barry and Matty." She gestured to the two boys sitting beside Jenny. Barry had blond hair and a scruffy beard and Matty had straight, black hair that went past his shoulders and facial hair around his mouth. "This is Lea and Zayn." Lea was sitting beside Jenny on the other couch in the van, who had blonde hair, a hooked nose, and a sweet smile. Next to her was Zayn who didn't really acknowledge Harry.

Harry smiled at everyone. "I'm Harry," he softly says.

"We know. Gemma talks about ya a lot," Lea says with a slight Scottish accent.

Harry flushes and looks to Gemma, who was holding Steve's hand and bumping her head to the music. "Probably all bad things."

"Not at all," Barry interjects. He scratches his chin underneath his beard. 

"Want a hit?" Matty asks, holding out a blunt. Harry shakes his head. "All right," he mutters, then inhales from the rolled up blunt between his fingers. He blows smoke on Barry's face, which leaves Barry laughing loudly. Harry quickly looks away.

"She talks shit about your dad, though," Cleo laughs out. "And how you blew up his shit. That's hardcore, man!"

The blushing on his cheeks intensifies. He could tell Zayn was looking at him from the corner of his eye, so he quickly said, "I didn't blow it up. Only set it on fire." He looks up at Zayn to see a slight smile forming on his lips. He relaxes against the leather seat.

"Far out," Jenny says.

He shrugs and looks down at his hands. 

"Hey, don't hog that!" Barry says to Matty. He takes the blunt from Matty and inhales deeply, holds it, then exhales slowly. His head falls on Matty's shoulder as he passes it to Cleo, who gladly takes a hit from it.

The van reeked of weed, but as long as they were all talking happily to each other, he was fine. He didn't want to be the center of the conversation. He just wanted to go to a club and forget about his troubles. 

"You got a girl, Harry?" Jenny asks. He looks up at her and shakes his head. Everyone else was talking amongst themselves.

"Jenny, don't even think about it," Gemma interrupts. She's staring between them from her seat. "I'm serious!"

Jenny laughs. "I wasn't doing anything!"

"Right, yeah. I could see ya picturing how you were gonna jump his bones!" Lea loudly says, her r's slightly rolling off her tongue. She elbows Jenny's side.

Harry bites the inside of his lip and softly breathes through his nose awkwardly. 

"He's just so cute, Gemma," Jenny says. 

Harry swallowed to wet his dry throat and stared at his lap. No girl had ever called him cute before. He preferred handsome over cute, but he'll take what he can get. Jenny has a pretty face. Her dark skin glistened under the moonlight, her hair tightly curled and falling to her shoulders. Her top looked like a bra, but covered more. It was brown and tied around her neck, the fabric around her chest dipping lowly. It stopped above her ribs. Her pants reached up above her bellybutton and matched the color of the...not bra. She's honestly stunning.

"Absolutely not," Gemma says. She glares at Jenny and that makes her hunch into her seat. 

They probably drove for about twenty or thirty minutes before arriving at the club. Harry assumed it wouldn't be packed due to it being a Monday night, but he was mistaken when they all piled out of the van. Vehicles filled the lot and spilled onto the street, and when they all walked to the door of the black building, they had to wait in line for a few minutes before going inside. A disco ball hung from the ceiling, shooting out beautiful colors around the room that bounced off sweaty bodies. Girls in barely any clothing danced on girls and boys, and smoke clouded the air around him. Music poured from the stage, raspy vocals floating in the room like the smoke surrounding him. It was loud and the bass and drums rattled his chest, and it was unbelievably hot, but he was excited nonetheless. The floor was black and white checkered and scuffed as Harry eagerly followed after Gemma's friends, who led him to the back; a lounge area was blocked off by a purple rope. It consisted of three blue couches, tall, round tables to hold drinks, and complimentary peanuts.

Harry stood beside Gemma, who was stuck to her boyfriend's side, and watched as her friends scattered around the little section they had blocked off.

"Free drinks for the birthday girl!" Cleo shouted. She handed Gemma a tube of something, and a glass with green liquid in it. 

Gemma knocked back the stuff in the tube with a disgusted look, and chased it with whatever was in the glass in her hand. She held up her drink and everyone hollered with her. Harry grinned and watched her socialize happily with her friends. He'd never seen his sister this way: happy and free. She was surrounded by the people she loved and she was practically glowing from it. Somehow, there was a drink in Harry's hand that tasted like strawberries (surely it didn't hold much alcohol since it was so sweet), and he contentedly drank from it as he stood next to Steve.

Steve has long, blond hair, and a blond mustache tickling his upper lip. He was taller than Harry, and lean; he sported brown trousers and a long, orange-striped shirt which was untucked. He holds a beer in his hand and watched as Gemma mingles, his eyes never leaving her as she flits around the room.

"So," Harry clears his throat. "Steve?"

His brown eyes find Harry's green ones, and he nods. His hand sticks out to shake, so Harry politely shakes it. "Yeah," he says. "Harry." It rolls off his tongue and it wasn't a question—it was him acknowledging that he knows who Harry is.

"Treating her right?" He questions, eyes hard. He knows how Gemma spoke of him, how she said no guys were ever nice. He better be a fucking rainbow of a man that shits glitter and caters to Gemma's needs without a complaint tonight. 

"I think so," he says with a smirk. He's too cocky for Harry's liking. "She's a feisty one. She wouldn't let me treat her badly if I tried."

"Better not fuckin' try, then, huh?" Harry says. He doesn't know where this sudden protectiveness is coming from, or why he's baring his teeth and being rather blunt with Steve. He's also never met any of Gemma's boyfriend's, so maybe he feels like he can talk sense into one now. 

"Don't worry, mate," Steve laughs out. He pats Harry's shoulder. "I won't. I quite fancy her."

Harry scans his features; his nose comes to a point, and he's got a wrinkle forming between his brows from keeping them pinched. He doesn't look like a bad guy, but Harry's not the one to judge that yet. He doesn't know him well enough. So when Gemma floats back to them, Harry moves aside. She grabs Steve's hand and drags him to the overflowing dance floor, and a smile is plastered to her mouth so wide that it looks like it'd hurt. 

Harry contentedly turns, sips from his strawberry drink, and moves to sit on the plush, blue sofa next to Zayn. He's wearing his leather jacket and sits with a cold beer in his grasp.

"You really burned your dad's belongings?" Zayn suddenly asks.

Harry shrugged, leaning slightly over to Zayn so that he could hear him. "Maybe!" He shouted over the music. He watched as some guy with an afro tried to convince Cleo to dance with him. She happily took the man's hand and left with him.

Harry's eyes flutter over to Barry and Matty, who were strangely close and whispering in one another's ear. Matty laughed about something Barry said and leaned over to kiss his jaw, and Harry turned to Zayn with wide eyes.

"They're together," was all Zayn said.

Harry looked back over to the couple, then back at Zayn. "Together?" He loudly questioned.

Zayn nodded and sat back against the sofa. He didn't appear bothered. "Yeah."

Harry's jaw slightly dropped as he stared at Barry and Matty, who were now making out and obviously not caring if anyone saw them. Harry couldn't believe it. He'd never seen two boys make-out before, and had never known a boy to be in a relationship with another boy. He watched in fascination as they kissed desperately, Matty nearly on top of Barry, and Harry swore he saw tongues slipping between their lips. When they pulled apart, they caught Harry's eye and Matty winked cheekily. 

"I think someone liked the show we put on," Matty loudly said to Barry.

Harry gasped and stood. "I—no, I didn't mean to stare. Sorry." He hastily left and chugged down the strawberry drink that stained his lips red. His cheeks were on fire from being caught, and he felt his stomach twist. He's embarrassed all this happened in front of Zayn, and desperately needed another drink. "Another of this?" Harry puzzledly asked the bartender once he reached the counter. 

The bartender peered inside his drink and nodded knowingly. Once the drink was placed in front of Harry, he drank it all without another thought, welcoming the fruity sweetness. The bartender quirked an eyebrow. "Be careful on those. It's one of our strongest drinks."

Harry's eyes went wide. How? He didn't taste any alcohol! It tasted like a strawberry smoothie. He picked up the pineapple—which sat at the edge of the cup on a toothpick—and ate it slowly, contemplating on ordering another drink. Maybe a different one would be better. But the bartender filled up his drink without another thought, so he had to drink it out of politeness. Harry left the bar (after paying, of course) with his drink and squeezed his way through people to get back to the lounge. Barry and Matty were still making out, so Harry quickly turned around and tried to find his sister in the large crowd instead.

"Harry!" Gemma said as she danced her way over to him. She grabbed his open hand and pulled him into the crowd. He laughed and sipped his strawberry beverage. "No matter how hard Jenny tries to seduce you, say no!" She shouts to him.

Harry shook his head. "She hasn't tried anything!" he shouts back.

"She will!"

As if on cue, he felt a body press against his backside. He spun around to find Jenny dancing on him. Her hands snake around his neck and she closely pressed the front of her body to his, where he could prominently feel her chest through her thin top. He didn't know what to do with his hands, since one was still holding the drink. She seemed to sense it somehow, so she moved her hands away and to his drink to lift the straw to his mouth. He happily sucked the drink until the slurpy emptiness of it came; the drink somehow disappeared after that and she guided his hands to her hips. 

"You're eighteen, yeah?" She loudly questioned in his ear. He nods, and she puts her hands around the back of his neck again. The drinks were starting to hit him. "Good."

He swayed against her while she danced. His kind of dancing was more distanced and of a jumping type, whereas Jenny liked to be close. He wasn't familiar with any of this. Especially when she spun around and pressed her ass against him. His eyes went wide. Her hands grasped his again, guiding them where it would be most natural. He was out of his comfort zone, that's for sure.

Her head was thrown back on his shoulder suddenly, and she dug her fingertips into the back of his neck, her backside skillfully moving down against him. He didn't know how to react. He hoped Gemma wasn't looking. His fingers gripped onto her hips and he let himself fall into the dirtiness of her movements, and allowed the alcohol from whatever the hell was in those drinks cloud his judgment. It's just dancing. With a beautiful girl. But then her lips were on his faster than he could think or react, and he fought the urge to throw up. Her lips felt heavy and cold against his—wrong. He pulled himself away and wiped at his mouth sloppily. Harry's vision was blurred and he stumbled away, trying to escape Jenny and find someone else that was familiar. He didn't understand how he was so drunk off of three lousy, strawberry-flavored beverages, but he was. 

He harshly shouldered into someone and nearly fell on his ass, but firm hands held him tightly into place. He looked over at the face that belonged to the hands and found brown eyes staring at him, perfect lips pursing.

"Hey," Harry says.

Zayn guides him over to the lounge and sat him on a couch. Lea was the only one sitting in the roped-off area; she was happily eating peanuts. Harry suddenly wanted them. 

"I want some nuts," he muttered.

"Sorry, I don't know you that well yet," Zayn says.

Harry laughs a full-blown, all-consuming laugh with his head thrown back on the sofa. "Fuck, that was funny," he says with a smile, wiping away the tears that formed in his eyes. "You're funny."

Zayn stares at him with amusement glinting in his caramel eyes; Harry realizes this is the most personality he's seen from Zayn. "Only when I want to be," he says.

"I know someone funny. I think you might like him. You know Louis Tomlinson?" Harry asks. He moves his hair out of his eyes that was beginning to fall onto his face.

"That bloke from the dance? The one who filmed it and shit?" Zayn asks.

Harry nods. "Good lad, he is." Zayn scans his face with an odd expression. Harry reaches out and taps Zayn's nose, because it felt like the right thing to do in the moment. "You've got a nice face. Good structure."

Zayn laughs and shakes his head. "You're beyond pissed, mate."

"On a school night, as well." He had trouble feeling sorry for himself. Suddenly Harry stood. "I'm gonna phone someone." He left a questioning Zayn on the couch and shoved his way through intoxicated people like himself, to get outside. He'd remembered seeing a public phone by the door when he walked in, so that's where he was headed. It only seemed logical in his drunken mind to ring Louis at midnight.

He nearly tripped when he pushed the door open, but caught himself before tumbling onto the ground. He turned to his left and found the black phone attached to a box on the wall. He dug around for a coin in his pocket to put it in the slot to the box, and successfully did so with a smile. He was sure he remembered Louis' number, and couldn't help but grin when it started to ring. He heavily relied on the wall beside him to keep himself standing up.

"Hello?" A groggy voice answers. Louis' voice.

Harry's heart pounded. He couldn't speak. He hadn't heard his voice since the dance, and suddenly, too many drunken emotions rushed back to him and his knees felt wobbly.

"Hello?" the voice questions again. "Look, if this is some kid, I don't have time for this."

"You do call me young," Harry finally spoke. There was a long pause. Harry fiddled with the corded phone and bit the inside of his cheek.

"Harry," Louis softly says. It was so soft Harry almost didn't hear it. "Harry, I've been meaning to call you."

"Why haven't ya?" He sadly asks. Even though he was drunk beyond comprehension, he knew he was going to regret this in the morning.

"You ran away. You needed time." Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Louis beat him to it. "Look, what happened... It's okay. I won't hold it over your head. You had a lot to drink."

"Pity kiss," Harry mumbles. Because that's why Louis kissed him back, and this only confirmed it.

"Oh," Louis says. Another pause. "That's why."

Harry furrows his brows. "I'm drunk. You're not making sense. Make things make sense, because everything is confusing right now."

"Confusing?" Louis questions.

The line went suddenly silent on the other end and Harry frowned. His time was up on the phone call. He hung up and slid down the wall with shaky knees, unable to hold himself up any longer. The cold grass felt wonderful in his sweaty palms, and moments later, he found himself hurling into the cold grass. He was definitely going to cry.


	12. 11.

Harry never really got headaches when he was hungover. It seemed everyone else did, but he found that if he drank a glass of water after drinking a lot, the headache never came. The nausea, though, was something that always arrived. And sleepiness. The entirety of his first class was spent fighting the urge to throw up and fall asleep; he suddenly hated himself for going out the night before.

After his first lecture was over, he sprinted to the bathroom to hurl whatever could possibly remain in his stomach. It was the water he'd sipped on earlier, and he swore in between heaves. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he felt absolutely disgusted with himself. He hated he went out last night, and he mentally promised himself to never drink anything strawberry related ever again. Niall somehow found him in the bathroom, the stall door swinging open behind him. 

"Smells like shite in here," he grumbles. He hands Harry a paper towel, and he wipes his sweaty face on it. "What kinda night did you have?"

"I think it's obvious." Harry flushed the toilet and stood, wishing he had a mint on him. Niall appears to have read his mind, though, because he pulls out a stick of gum and offers it to him. He takes it with a thankful look, and pops it in his mouth, letting the spearmint freshness flood his taste-buds. "Gemma's birthday was yesterday and she dragged me to a club."

"And you couldn't think to ring me!" Niall scoffs out. Harry walks past him and to the sink to wash his hands. "Bloody rude, that."

Harry rolls his eyes and turns to face him, bum resting on the sink behind him, and eyes settling on Niall's. He had on a pair of plaid, brown pants, and a crème colored shirt with a brown collar to appear cohesive with his pants. Niall's always been more stylish, with his expensive clothes and pristinely-kept hair. Harry wishes he could be more like Niall sometimes—his only downfall used to be pining after girls and not doing anything about it, but now that he's got a girl, he's just perfect. It's annoying.

"You're frustrating," Harry says. "You had your fun Saturday night."

Niall popped a brow. "You didn't?"

Harry's heart pangs, his chest tightens, and his face falls. Niall didn't even notice Harry had run out early that night, and maybe that shouldn't bother him as much as it does, but they're best mates. He's supposed to notice if he's not around having fun with them.

"I left early," is all he says. He rubs the tip of his noise, a telling sign that Niall catches with a furrow of his brows. Harry hates his face is always so readable, and that his actions give away his emotions. 

"What's wrong?" Niall suddenly asks.

Harry rolls his eyes and tries to mask his face. "Nothing! I just got drunk too quickly that night and had to go home." And, yeah, he had to turn his face away, because he doesn't like to lie. Especially to one of his best mates, and especially because he doesn't want to talk about that night. He can't talk about it. He needs Niall to believe his lie.

Bright blue, innocent eyes search his face, before Niall shrugs and drops the subject. Thank God Niall doesn't have the attention-span to pursue the topic. He follows Harry out of the bathroom, and together, they walk to their next lesson that they have together. Niall talks about the dance, and how Lily had kissed him, and how it was the most magical night. Harry didn't feel so bad about Niall not noticing him storming out early; instead, he feels happy. Happy that Niall had such a great night, and happy that he's found a sweet gal to be with. Even if his best mates all have girlfriend's and will soon forget about him, maybe he'll just be happy that they're happy.

Maybe.

———

Harry, Niall, and Liam all had lunch together surprisingly. Liam wore his brightest smile and tousled hair, and Niall happily stuffed his face. It was nice to be together. Harry has been so in his head lately that he forgets having a simple conversation with his mates can bring his mood up. But then Niall starts talking about snogging Lily again, and his heart sinks. It's not intentional; just hours before lunch, he was happy for Niall and Lily, but now he's suddenly sad. Sad because he snogged someone, too, but he can't talk about it. He's had his first kiss, but can't mutter a word of it. His friends would probably look at him with disgust, like he does with himself. He sinks down in his chair, shoulders hunched, and picks at the plate of spaghetti in front of him. He thought he was getting used to the bricks on his shoulders.

"Harry?" His eyes shoot up and meet Liam's expectant eyes, his brows raised, and waiting for Harry to acknowledge him. "Did you hear me?"

His eyes flick to Niall, who's also staring at him, and then down to Harry's plate. He knowingly slides the food over to him, and he grins widely and starts in on the food. "Uh," Harry starts, but only shakes his head.

Liam stares at Harry, eyes flashing a worried look at the state of his sunken features, but he only says, "We're throwing a party at Niall's. His parents are out for the weekend!"

Harry's brows instantly draw in. "A party? Who would we invite?"

"Everyone!" Niall exclaims as he scarfs down spaghetti. Sauce stains the corners of his mouth, so Harry offers him a napkin with an amused smile.

"Could I invite people?" Harry questions. He tries to keep himself from laughing when a noodle hangs from the corner of Niall's mouth.

"Of course," Liam says, "but who?"

Harry shrugs. "I may have made some friends last night." Which was true. Matty, Barry—the whole gang—were so much fun to be around and they seemed to thoroughly enjoy Harry as well. He could possibly invite them. Even Zayn. Gemma could come. A party doesn't seem like the worst idea in the world. Oh, but— "Does it have to be at Niall's?" he quietly asks.

Niall shoots his head up at that. "Oi! What's wrong with my place?" he defends.

"Nothing. It'll be fun. When is it?" Harry asks. There's no use fighting it. There's no use giving them a reason to question him about why he doesn't want it there.

"This Friday. At ten?" Liam questions, eyes sliding over to Niall. Niall nods. "I'm nervous! We've never done anything like this!"

Harry stands when the time for his next lesson approaches, telling Liam it'll be fun. He ruffles Niall's hair and leaves them with a forced smile, his books already in his hands. 

———

Wednesday approaches. And he hates his life, honestly. He doesn't want to face his dad while all the shit that's going on in his life is happening, but here he is. He's wearing black slacks and a light-blue-buttoned shirt tucked neatly into it. Elaine wanted everyone to dress properly for their next meal, and his father had called with the details. She was cooking expensive steak and serving wine that could pay for his mum's mortgage, but he still knocked on the door, and forced a small smile to tug at his lips. It wasn't much, but it was all he could do. Maybe he could pretend to be a boy that visited a father that truly cared for him; a boy that had everything figured out, and liked his dad's girlfriend, and everything that was wrong in his life was right.

"Harry!" Elaine says once she opens the door. She's wearing a dress similar to the one she wore last time, but very pink. Tulle that helped with the fluffiness of the skirt peeks out at the bottom, and her dress dips like a deep valley between large mountains on her chest. 

He keeps his eyes on her faded blue ones. "Hello, Elaine."

"Well, come in. It's chilly out," she notes, hands on his shoulders as she guides him in. "Your father is on the phone with his employee, so he should be right out. Make yourself at home!"

He pretends his dad never cheated on his mother, and instead they fell out of love and divorced, therefore making it all right to date Elaine. His hands clasp together and he makes his way into the home with a forced smile. The house is cozy and colorful, with orange, diamond-shaped wallpaper. There's a fireplace in the living room, which was the main vocal point of the place. Brick took up the entirety of the wall, and a basket of chopped wood lay beside the fireplace. Seafoam green sofas and chairs dressed the room and clashed with the mustard yellow carpet; Harry rubbed away a headache caused by the bright colors and sat in a green chair, eyes falling on the television which was playing Happy Days.

Music from the show played out in the quiet room, but Harry couldn't focus. His leg shook up and down, and his heart was beating faster in his chest. He thinks it's a common spout of anxiety causing him to feel this way, because his father is only a room away. And he has to spend the entire evening with him. Lovely. He was trying to gather things to talk about for the evening, since that's basically why his father wants to get together once a week. Harry knows it's his way of being nosy, but he's forced into it, so there's not much he can do.

"Harry," an uninterested voice says. He turns his head to see his father entering the room, with a black suit on and a glass of scotch in his hand. He sits on the green sofa next to Harry and eyes his attire. "School good?"

"Yes, sir," he mutters unhappily. His eyes flick back to the programme on the telly. 

"How's Gemma? Did she get my gift?"

Harry's eyes wonder back to his father. His features are hard, brows pinched together and lips in a firm line. His face is round and a bit chubby, and his dark hair is slicked back flatly. He was once a handsome guy; in old photographs he found of his parents, he used to have curly hair, was leaner, and stood proud and cocky. Tired, aged eyes replaced lively, youthful ones, and a hunch formed to his shoulders. Harry thinks the weight of his harsh words is what formed his mouth into a permanent frown. 

"I don't know. She didn't tell me anything," Harry honestly replies.

His father sips from his drink. "Did she have a good birthday?"

Harry nods, looks away, and stares at the Fonz in a leather jacket that resembles Zayn's. "Yeah, she did. Why doesn't Gem come to these things with me?" It was said quickly, but he wanted to know.

"She beats to her own drum. I can't threaten her to do anything," he grumbles out.

Ah. Guess Harry's easy to threaten, then. He frowns and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, and together they sit quietly with their eyes on the television. 

"Del, Harry!" Elaine's heels clack their way into the room, and muffle when the touch the carpet. "Dinner is ready."

Del and Harry stand, and he waits for his father to make his way into the dining room first before following after. The room was quaint and painted a muted orange to try and tie into the living room wallpaper, and the chairs were wood with odd carvings on the backs. The table was perfectly set, with utensils tucked away in napkins, and food placed in fancy bowls and platters with gold accents designed into them. It was a bit much. But Harry sat with a forced smile, and told Elaine it looked wonderful. Even though it was killing him to have to thank his father's mistress. 

Elaine took their plates and laid a steak that could serve an entire family on them, along with veggies and baked potatoes and a fresh glass of wine. It was fucking elegant and everything Harry's not, so basically, he wished he would have burned the entire house down instead of the materialistic things his dad possessed. He wonders where that would get him with his father.

"Your marks are good this term, correct?"

Harry sips his wine and has to roll his eyes. It was wonderful. Not bitter and strong like the others he's had, but sweet and light and just wonderful. "Yes. I'm actually doing well, under the circumstances," he remarks.

His father quirks an eyebrow and Elaine noticeably shifts in her seat. "Under the circumstances? What's that mean?"

"You know," Harry says, hand gripping his fork tightly with his newfound rage. "You ruining a marriage of twenty-six years, and all that." Harry looks at his wine and struggles to find the courage to look his father in the eye. But, hey, he's at least at the weekly meal. Nothing was in the contract about the night having to be pleasant. 

"Harry. Edward. Styles," his father seethed out. His green eyes flicked to his dad then, watching as his face pinched in anger and reddened his cheeks. "Don't you dare talk to me like that. I'm your father, and you're to talk to me with respect." Spit flew from his mouth and Harry's mouth turned upside-down out of disgust.

"All right," he says. Because what's the fucking point? Any traces of defiance he felt washed out of his body; there's no need to pick a fight, not when it'll get them nowhere. He could say: Sorry, my respect for you was lost when you fucked another woman, but he keeps his mouth painfully shut and eats the annoyingly delicious steak.

———

The rest of the night was awkward and tense, and Harry may have wished he'd kept his mouth shut the entire time. He helped with the washing up because it pissed Del off, and Elaine had a sickly sweet smile on her lips the entire time. Harry wasn't looking to bond over dish-washing, so when she tried to start a conversation, he gave short replies or ignored her altogether. He knew he was being rude and selfish, but why was he ever nice in the first place? Why would he be nice to a woman that pursued a married man?

"Harry," Elaine started, her voice hesitant.

He inhaled deeply and dried his hands on his slacks, staring over at her with pinched brows and a clenched jaw.

"I'm really sorry," she quietly says. Harry's jaw unclenches. He wasn't expecting that. "I know what it's like, to... to be in your position. But it was my mum that cheated. You just—you just don't understand until you're in those shoes, love."

Harry's lip curls up in disgust. "So you experienced your family being torn apart because of a parent cheating, and you decided to grow up and become one of the reasons a family is torn apart? That's horrific." And he thought Elaine wasn't so bad. Turns out she was worse—much worse.

Elaine shuts her eyes for a moment and shifts on her heels. "That's not what I meant. My mum was never a happy woman, dear. She did what she did for happiness. I didn't understand it then, but I do now."

Harry shakes his head. "Thanks for dinner." He pushes himself away from the counter and storms off, boots hitting heavily against the hardwood flooring. He doesn't say a word to Del when he leaves, but he figured the slamming of the front door was a good indication that he was leaving. And maybe never coming back.

His mind was spinning when he drove home. It was bad enough living in a broken home caused by adultery, but to have the mistress experience the same thing as a kid that he was going through? What kind of twisted human can do something like that? 

——— 

He'd told Liam and Niall as soon as he could, which was at school the next day. They were eating together again for lunch, which made Harry stupidly happy. It made things feel like they were back to normal, before he kissed a guy, and before his mates got all wrapped up in girls. Niall was tearing through the pizza that was served for lunch, and Liam was absently picking through the fruit on his tray. Both were listening to Harry complain about his family, and he may have let it slip that he had burned his fathers things in his front yard. They were appalled, and immediately spewed questions his away.

"What the fuck? Why didn't you tell us?" Niall had asked.

"The bloody police!" Liam had said.

"I would've helped, ya bastard," Niall said.

"I would have talked you out of it!" Liam said.

Harry profusely apologized for not mentioning it earlier. It was crazy that so much had happened since then, that he had simply forgotten to tell them about it. Liam needed a little more convincing with his apologies, and Niall was more proud than hurt. After sincere looks and sorry's were tumbled from Harry's mouth, he was able to get to the point of his rambles: Elaine and Del. He told them about how the night had gone; how she'd told him about her childhood with her mum. He felt like he was going a bit crazy because of how calm Elaine had been while confessing to him. He needed Niall and Liam to give their input on the situation to see if he was being dramatic about his feelings.

"Shit, Harry," Niall had said. "That's fucked."

Harry's shoulders sank. He really isn't blowing things out of proportion, then. "Yeah."

Liam ran a hand over his face and exhaled. "This is heavy."

Harry nodded at Liam's words. It was an appropriate phrase, given the weight that had consumed Harry's body and heart. "So I should hate her?" He questions. He's so lost in life it was beginning to be funny. It should be clear to hate this woman like he's beginning to hate his father, yet he has to ask if it's appropriate to hate her now.

"She's a cunt. Hell yeah," Niall says with a shrug of his shoulders.

Liam, on the other hand, pursed lips and had thoughtful brows drawn in. He takes a sip of his drink, and then sets his elbows on the table with his hands drawn up and fingers tangled together. "It's hard to say," Liam says. "I mean, it seems like she's trying. You know? I think she feels guilty."

Niall rolls his eyes, but Harry frowns. "Why can't anything be easy in my life? Why can't I just simply hate the woman?"

Liam sighs loudly. "Because it wasn't entirely her fault. She wasn't the married one."

Harry scoffed. "Right, I think I know that, Liam. Still. If I was with someone and discovered they were married, I would have the decency to end it."

Liam looked as if he had a little more fight in him, but as his eyes trailed over Harry, he noticeably pressed his lips tighter together. He was obviously conflicted and he knew he wore the emotions right on his face, but he couldn't help it. So much didn't make sense. And he wishes he could talk to Louis and have his input, but that definitely isn't going to happen. Even when he thought back to the telephone call with Louis. 

I've been meaning to call you. 

But he hadn't. Everything was unbelievably pitiful in his life, from the kiss, to the problems he's having with his parents. And how Louis had lied through his teeth to him. Maybe his drunken state amplified something that wasn't there, but when he thought back on it, it was obvious. Louis didn't want to call him. He didn't want to talk to him because it was embarrassing. He singlehandedly ruined one of the best friendships that could've blossomed in his life, all because he was tipsy and needy for attention—no matter the form it came in.

Before he could start the process of self-loathing, Olivia walked over and placed her arms around Liam's neck and kissed his cheek. Harry looked at Niall and tried to keep a smile from forming on his face.

"Hello, boys!" She happily says with that sweet smile. She's wearing a red sweater with blue, flared jeans. "So Lily and I successfully told everyone we knew about the party. The decor is handled—thanks for letting us decorate, Niall—and everything is right on schedule! This is going to be the best party of the year!"

Harry raises his brows out of surprise, glances between the two, and can't help but release a laugh. "Where did you guys get the money for all this?"

Olivia laughs, red lips spreading across teeth. "Money's not a problem, dear!"

Harry quirked a brow and shrugged off the weird feeling being called "dear" by a person his own age gave him. "All right," he mutters.

Olivia fixed a part of Liam's hair before settling her brown-eyed gaze on Harry. "Harry, I can easily get you a date."

He frowns and shakes his head. "I don't—no, I don't need one. Just gonna have fun being a single man."

She laughs again and removes herself from Liam, who looked in a daze from her soft touches. "As you wish. See you two tomorrow!" She leans down and kisses Liam's cheek again. "See you tonight."

———

"And they'll be there?" He asks Gemma with his hip leaning against her door. He watches as she spreads lipstick on her lips and then dabs it on her cheeks with her fingertips.

"Yes, Harry! Now get out so I can get ready!"

Harry nodded, left, and shut the door behind him. He was incredibly nervous for the party. He had to wear the right thing, seeing how he was basically a co-host. Sure, Liam and Niall and their girls all foresaw the little details; such as the decor, theme, and invitations, but Harry had asked Gemma to invite her friends. More like begged, but that was beside the point. He had to dress nice, be there early, and get ready to be plastered.

Anne was spending the night with her "girls" and didn't really care what Gemma and Harry were up to. He knew she'd probably come home drunk as well—he was just excited that she was going out and having fun. 

His fingers ran over the clothes in his closet. He would rip jeans and t-shirts off the hangers, but to only throw them around his room. He was quick to realize that he didn't have clothes for a party. Sure, the clothes he wore at the club was an easy ensemble, but this is something else entirely. He had to look his best—pristine—but look relaxed and...cool. But he's having trouble with the latter because he's never been cool. He's a nobody at school. Maybe dressing the part of a "cool kid" is important to him tonight—it's going to leave an impression with his classmates.

He reached for an outfit in his closet that he'd never worn and squeezed the fabric between his fingers. It was an outfit he bought on a whim, but felt too uncomfortable to wear publicly. What the hell, he thought. He pulled it off the hanger and struggled into the outfit, nearly losing his balance as he hopped his legs into the pants, and then he pushed the sleeves over his arms. It was a denim jumpsuit, one that was surprisingly softer than he'd thought it would be, and he quickly buttoned up the top of it. He needed to get it on swiftly before he changed his mind.

He caught himself in the mirror and chewed at his lip worriedly, doing a half-spin as he looked over his body. It definitely showed the little curve to his hips where his love-handles poked out, and the small area over his bum, but it was nice. And too much. He shook his head and immediately started undoing the buttons, when the door to his bedroom was thrown open unexpectedly.

"Holy shit, Harry! You look amazing!"

He looks over at Gemma with a roll of his eyes, feeling uneasy by the compliment. He never knows how to take compliments well, or knows how to ever get used to them.

"I'm not wearing it," he mutters. He sits on the bed and waits for her to leave so that he can change.

"That's crazy, of course you're wearing it." She runs a hand through her hair and walks over to the mirror Harry was just standing in front of. She was wearing a blue dress, one that was sleeveless and looked like it was made from a suede material. She wore a long-sleeved undershirt that was a lighter blue. Her heels were white and similar colored socks rolled up her shins and stopped right below her knees. She looked stunning, and even her hair had changed from the simple, straightened dark hair, to wavy and more blown-out. 

"I don't know," he said after a moment. "I don't look as good as you."

She visibly rolls her eyes in the mirror and turns with a hand on her hip. "Bullshit. You look better. Stop feeling sorry for yourself because you're a total babe, Harry! Now get up, because Liam's been here for about fifteen minutes."

He shoots off the bed at her demand and she scurries to his closet, returning a second later with boots in her hands. He follows instruction when she demands he put them on, and is quick to rush him down the stairs and out the door where Liam is parked and waiting for him. He runs a hand through his long hair and walks over to the tan-colored car, opening it without a greeting before he slides in.

"Damn, Harry," Liam notes. He backs out of the driveway and makes for Niall's house. "Lookin' spiffy."

"So do you," Harry replies. It's true. Liam's wearing tan slacks which a loud, blue-patterned shirt is tucked into. It was hard to describe the pattern, with all its swirls and different tones of blues, but whatever it was called, Liam was pulling it off.

He could tell Liam was nervous; he was tapping his thumbs constantly against the steering wheel and humming to himself. Harry was quiet on the way there, with the faint noise of music pouring from the radio slicing any awkward silence that would have taken place. He held his breath when Liam pulled into Niall's house, and forced himself not to look at the red mustang parked at the house next door. He's not going to think about him—not tonight. Tonight is about leaving impressions and having fun. 

They both got out of the vehicle without a word, and when Harry reached the front door, he pushed it open with a bit of excitement rolling through his stomach. Niall's house has always been grand—but tonight, it looked god-like. The staircase was drenched in gold streamers, the kitchen was packed-full with all kinds of alcohol that probably dried up the local store. With his mouth hung open, he made his way into the living room, which wasn't the living room anymore. The room has always been huge, but furniture and couches always made up for the enormous space. That wasn't the case for tonight. The couches and television and wall-art (along with special trinkets Mrs. Horan wouldn't want breaking) was all gone, and what replaced it was: huge stereos, a weird statue of a half-naked man in the middle of the room, and balloons. Gold balloons, of course. Streamers were draped over the sculpture of the Greek god (who was feeding himself grapes) to tie into the gold theme.

He was speechless.

Niall was behind the stereo putting a record on, and soon, Abba was blasting throughout the house.

"Niall!" Harry excitedly says as he walks over to him. He can't help but hug him. "This is incredible!"

"I know!" He says back, voice matched with just as much excitement. "Mate, we've got a bloody statue!"

Harry cackles. He can't help it. "Where the hell did you get that?"

Niall's eyes are red and his shoulders are slack, the familiar smell of Mary Jane laced in his breath. Harry assumes it was to take off the edge. "Ask Lily! She's insane!"

Harry laughs, gives Niall's outfit a once-over, and gives him a thumbs up of approval. Brown always looks good on him, and tonight he wore high-waisted brown pants styled with a navy sweater. A white, collared shirt peeked over the top of the sweater and added a clean, mature look to the carefree boy.

He stared at the statue in awe, and found himself staring at his friends in awe, and then couldn't help but feel happy when they all huddled into the kitchen for a round of shots. It burned Harry's throat and he held back the urge to gag. The first shot of the night is always the worst. 

"Another round!" Niall called out.

Why not?

———

This is saturday's update, so there won't be a new chapter this saturday!! hope you're enjoying the story xx

-k.p.


	13. 12.

The entire house was packed full of people from school and other people Harry didn't know. He found where Niall put the furniture: outside. So that's where he's currently sitting, with a strong drink in his hand, and a few girls sitting next to him. So far the night was going miraculously well. A girl climbed the statue and made-out with it, Harry successfully danced with a few people, and he hasn't thrown up yet. The cold air wrapped around him like a familiar, loving embrace when it got too hot inside.

He had to push away a few people that got too handsy, which is one of the reasons why he walked outside; but apart from that he was having a great time. He'd say he's at a Level One drunk; the most drunk he's ever gotten was at a Level Two, and he hopes he can reach Level Three tonight.

"Harry!" Says a familiar voice.

Harry grins widely. "Gem-Gem!" He slowly stands and throws his arms around her. He may be really drunk. Like, really. It was wonderful.

"I see you're having fun," she giggles out.

"Harry, great party," Matty says from behind her. Barry is standing beside him and smiling, so Harry smiles back.

He walks over to him and gives him a high-five. "Why, thank you! Enjoy yourselves. Get drunk," he happily says. Gemma seemed to have brought the whole gang, with Barry, Lea, Cleo, and Jenny. 

"No Zayn?" he asks Gemma, eyes returning back to her. Gemma shrugs. "Or Steve?" Her eyes fall at that. Harry steadies himself and walks in front of her, voice dropping quietly. "What's wrong?"

She sighs and glances behind her. Her friends are talking amongst themselves, and when she turns back to Harry, she whispers, "stupid fight."

Harry frowns. "What about?"

She shifts on her feet. "Steve didn't like my outfit and was trying to get me to change, and Zayn butted in saying I should be able to wear what I want. Steve kinda went off on him for defending me. Long story short, neither of them are here. I don't know. Steve didn't want to be around Zayn if he was going, and then Zayn dipped after Steve left."

Harry tried to absorb what she was saying, but a lot of her words were beginning to run together. "Zayn's a good guy," he says back. Although they don't know much about him, he stuck up for Gemma. He's a complete mystery, with his strange disappearances always occurring, and Harry can't help but think that Louis would like him. He did say he enjoys a good mystery.

"Go get a drink," he says to her after a moment. She nods. He looks back at her friends and plasters a wide grin on his lips. "Everyone, go drink! Enjoy this party!"

Everyone looked pleased by their surroundings, which pleased Harry. He watches as they sauntered back into the house to get some drinks. His happy mind wasn't aware that Jenny stuck around, with her golden skin glittering in the moonlight, and a shy look on her face. Harry grinned at her.

"Hi, Jenny," he sweetly says. He swayed where he stood.

"Hey, Harry. Look, the other night... I'm really sorry. Sometimes I can be a little boy crazy." She looks down and kicks at a rock.

Harry walks over to her, fascinated by her sparkly skin. He blinks too much to try and get his eyes to focus as he reaches out and rubs the tip of his finger against her bare shoulder; he pulls it away curiously as sparkles coat his finger. "It's all right. Was nice being wanted." Which was true. And Jenny's pretty, so it was flattering.

"It's a glittery body oil," she says with an amused look. 

"Pretty," he mutters. He looks into her brown eyes in silence, her curly hair fanning over her face and casting shadows. He gulps, brings his drink up to his lips, and frowns when nothing comes out. "Let's get a drink," he says.

She grabs his hand happily and leads him back into the house, where they squish through sweaty bodies and feel the music vibrate through their chests. The kitchen was just as crowded, but he was able to push his way through people to get the drinks they wanted. She wanted tequila, and he wanted something fruity. Not strawberries, though. He was still scarred from the aftermath of that. He successfully found a vodka with apple flavorings, and gladly poured himself a large cup of it. He held the drinks carefully up in the air when they walked through people again, careful to not spill a drop (it was precious liquid in his hands!), and they had a mutual understanding to go back outside where it wasn't so crowded. Harry didn't care. He was glad to have some company that wasn't a horny girl or his mates telling him he should slow down on the drinks.

Together they sat back on the couch (which was vacant from people now) and sprawled all over it. She leaned back against the armrest and lifted her feet to rest on Harry's lap, and he didn't argue. He didn't care how she sat (a drunk mind will do that to a person). Her legs were soft anyway, and he found himself running a finger up and down her glittered leg as they drank in peace.

"Sorry I scared you away Monday night," she giggles out, lips pressed to her cup.

"You didn't. I was plastered. I—well, I don't know. I don't have experience with kissing, you know," he mutters. He was unbelievably drunk and Jenny's nice. She's wearing a miniskirt and a striped tank-top and Harry's aware of how her skirt is hitching up high on her thigh, but forces himself not to look down.

"I don't know!" She says, leaning slightly closer to Harry. "Have you ever kissed anyone?"

His eyes flick over to her, a frown situating on his lips. "Yeah. Once. Was a mistake, that."

She laughs. "I understand the feeling! And a lot of guys tell me that, as well. But I can't help I'm a total babe and that all the horny white men want me."

Harry's frown deepens. "I'm sorry," he says. Though her words were laced with humor, he could tell it was a front. A front for something that she was burying deep down. He knows the sound when he hears it. 

"Oh, you're sweet." She reaches over and cups Harry's right cheek softly, then runs a finger over his jawline, before withdrawing her touch altogether. "Gemma's right about you. You're different from all the other boys. She doesn't want me hanging with you, Harry. She thinks I'm gonna turn you."

Harry pinches his brows together and bites at his lip in thought. "Turn me? How?"

She downs her drink and lays her head back on the armrest. "Turn you into a sex-ball? I don't bloody know. I'm boy crazy, don't ask me, love!"

He giggles and leans his head back on the sofa, eyes bouncing from star to star. His hand rests below her knee and memories flash in front of his eyes. 

Under the stars. The irony. 

He shuts his eyes tightly, but can smell the peppermint breath fanning over his face and needy fingers pressing into his hips. He needed a stronger drink to get these thoughts out of his mind, but he felt paralyzed in his seat. His body's heavy, and the alcohol he's consumed is starting to take a toll on him. It's fucking depressing that he's actually enjoying not being so in control of his body. 

"Harry?" Jenny's voice disrupts his thoughts. Her voice is gentle and curious. "You're crying."

He reaches up and touches his cheeks, and to his embarrassment, she was telling the truth. He's quick to wipe at his eyes and remove the physical notion that he's unhappy, because something like that is to be kept locked up inside his head. Far away.

"I've had a lot to drink," is all he says. But they continue. The tears fall, and it feels like a tap was turned on behind his eyes and he can't reach into his mind to turn it off. "That's all," he says through sniffles. When did he become such a fucking loser?

"Clearly," she says. 

He feels her soft, cold hands cup both his cheeks and her thumbs spread out to wipe away at the tears. All he can do is keep his eyes pressed tightly shut in attempt to stop the water pouring from his eyes. Pathetic. All too quickly, he's putting his cup on the floor and standing, eyes open after successfully stopping the tears, with a hand extended out. He needs to get his mind off whatever caused him to embarrassingly cry like that, so dancing is the obvious choice. She grabs his hand without hesitation, and together, they walk into the overflowing house and squeeze tightly by the Greek god with lipstick on his mouth.

———

"Dionysus seems thirsty," Harry says with a frown. Over the course of thirty minutes, he's had far too many drinks (too many to count), but also discovered the name of the Greek god. He and Jenny were stuck together like glue, never once leaving each other's side during the dancing or drinking.

"Give him some!" She shouted, hand raising in the air.

Harry grinned manically and removed himself from the people surrounding him, and headed for the statue. He stepped on the gold plate where it stood, and stared in fascination at the grapes hidden in his hair. He wraps an arm around Dionysus's, careful not to bump his hand on the grapes the statue's holding, before he unceremoniously tips his drink to the cold, hard lips. Clear liquid dribbled down the bare torso and covered lower-half, and he just couldn't help but giggle at himself while he watched the mess unfold before him. The crowd around him erupted into cheers, which was soon drowned out by music. He hopped off the plate beneath his feet and looked around curiously, only now realizing he hasn't spoken to his mates for most of the night. It was rude of him. He suddenly had to find Liam and Niall.

His mission was set, but it was hard to achieve given his fuzzy mind and the mass crowd of partiers. Jenny would understand, so he was fine leaving her alone. He stumbled around the kitchen, the packed hallways, the backyard—but to his discouragement, they were nowhere to be seen. 

"Bloody hell," he mutters to himself. He shivers when he walks out the front doors and into the front yard, but the frown is wiped from his face when he sees the familiar backsides of his beloved friends. "Liam! Niall!" he shouts out, running up beside them to throw his arms around their shoulders. Now standing between the two, he leans in quickly to plant kisses to their cheeks. 

They both groan and wipe vigorously at their faces. 

"Fuck, Harry, go drink some water," Niall huffs out.

He playfully pouts and looks ahead of him. Immediately he removes his arms from Liam and Niall. He can feel his heart pound against his chest, which is desperate to leave and hide away, he's sure. In front of him is Louis Tomlinson. Harry's vision is blurry so he has to squint to be certain, and, yes—yes, it's him. The eyes that hold vast oceans stare back at him, and Harry feels lightheaded. He stares at the crème colored cardigan and what looks to be silk pajama pants, but Harry can't be sure because he's struggling to focus. He sways unsteadily, and has to lean against Liam for stability.

"As I was saying," Louis says. He clears his throat, and Harry looks away. "I don't mind your party, but just make sure they don't stumble back over to mine. It's happened a few times now."

"Of course," Liam apologetically says, "I'm sorry about this. We didn't expect all these people to show up."

Harry furrows his brows and tries to stare at Liam, but it makes everything much dizzier. He doesn't understand why Liam's not as drunk as he is, and why it seems like he hasn't had a drop of alcohol in his system. Harry's seen him take quite a few shots, yet there he stands, completely poised and steady. How frustrating. 

"Sorry, Louis!" Niall butts in. "I'll keep an eye on 'em."

Harry groans and snaps his head over to Niall. "Why aren't you as drunk as I, Niall Horan?"

Niall's eyes flash over to him, and a look of annoyance washes over his features. "Because I didn't drink a whole bottle of vodka, Harry."

His frown deepens. "I didn't," he quietly replies. He doesn't want to be embarrassed, yet he is. Louis is standing in front of him, and he can feel his intense gaze, but he can't force himself to look in his direction. Now Niall's making him look like an alcoholic.

"Mate, take it easy," Liam says, offering a steady hand when Harry starts to slump.

Harry quickly removes himself from Liam's grasp. His foot catches something hard on the ground, and before he knows it, he's falling not-so-graciously on his ass. He pouts sadly and feels the cold, damp ground chill his bum underneath the denim fabric of his jumpsuit.

"Such a fuckin' spaz," Niall says. He reaches out and offers a hand to help Harry up, but he swats it away. "Take my hand, Harry."

"No. I'll sit here the whole night if I have to. My spaz self and I don't need help." Harry's aware he's being childish, but the liquor that swims through his stomach is not making him think coherently. He can hear Liam and Niall talking—to Louis or each other, he doesn't know. They're practically mumbling and Harry can't hear well enough to figure it out. 

"Harry."

Fuck. 

Shit.

Harry didn't realize Liam and Niall had left. He was too busy looking at the cold grass and tugging at its blades to notice. He sees bent knees in his direct line of vision, and still can't bring himself to look at Louis. He's knelt in front of him, a bit too close for comfort, and he stays quiet. Harry knows he's looking at him. He always knows—he just can't bring himself to stare back. Too many things rush through his mind, from the dance, to the drunken call, and to everything Louis that's encompassing him. It's infuriating how all-consuming Louis Tomlinson is. It's infuriating that Harry's fighting every instinct to not look at Louis, to not give him the satisfaction as even a glance, but he's weak. Too weak. And desperate for the familiar presence that he was getting used to being around before his life fell apart.

He looks up. He wanted to just glance at him and look away, but as soon as his green eyes met those blue ones, it grew impossible. He can't read the look on Louis' face; it could be because his mind is so foggy that it's hard for him to get a read on anything. Yet he can see how soft and doll-like Louis' skin is, and forces the urge to reach out and stroke his cheek to go away. 

"Let me help you up," he says. His hand extends out, and all Harry can do is stare at it before looking back to his eyes. "Harry?"

Stop. Stop saying my name, Harry thinks to himself. He wants to lunge at him and take over all his senses. He wants Louis to breathe him in and suffocate under his weight—he wants him to feel everything he's feeling right now. Everything Louis clearly isn't, with the way he's able to talk to Harry and even offer to help him up being the clear giveaway. He's speechless and can't escape the hold Louis' eyes have on him. 

"Okay," Louis says. He sits in front of Harry, legs crossing over one another. His face is soft and patient—at least he thinks it is. "You don't have to say anything." The firm lock on their gaze is broken when Louis looks down. "Just listen to me. I'm your mate, yeah? I think we should ignore what happened last week. Let's let things go back to normal."

Harry opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His words and thoughts are failing him in this very moment and he felt like smacking his head against a brick wall. 

All too suddenly their space was interrupted with a giggly, handsy girl. Small hands ruffled Harry's hair and then wrapped around his shoulders, a body pressing against his, and giggles never ceasing.

"Harry, you left me!" Jenny's familiar voice rumbles in his ear. 

Harry's eyes never leaves Louis', and there's a look that flashes over his features before they harden into unreadability. Was it disappointment? God, he's too drunk for this shit.

"I was looking for..." He says, eyes still on Louis', whose are on the girl behind him. "Something," he finishes.

"Did you find it? I wanna dance!" She whines. He feels as her hands start tugging at him, trying to pull him up. 

Slowly he stands. Jenny's hands are wrapped around his upper-arm and are pulling him back towards the house, and further away from Louis. He still can't break eye contact. A soft smile brushes Harry's lips, as if he's trying to apologize with a look, and pushes all the words he couldn't say into it. He only hopes Louis could read the look and accept the non-verbal apology.

———

Everything was blurry. He couldn't focus, but he felt like he was basically slumping around bodies to keep himself steady. He'd thrown up not too long ago, and was quick to consume more alcohol because the taste no longer burned his throat. He could drink everything straight without another thought, and after too long, it didn't taste like anything. He didn't know what was in the last cup he drank out of, and he didn't care. He thinks he's having fun. The best of the music doesn't sound like a beat at all—it just runs together in a loud noise. He'd say he's successfully reached Level Three.

At this point he doesn't know if Liam and Niall fled upstairs to spend some time with their ladies, or if they're still on the dance floor. Maybe they dipped to find a place to sleep. Gemma left about an hour ago and told him to take it easy. Obviously he didn't listen. 

He's never been this drunk before. It's all new territory, and it feels like he can't speak because of how messed up he is. His body bumped into others who were still dancing. Some groped at him but left angry when he couldn't bring himself to dance back with them. Minutes later Jenny realized how fucked up he was (he thinks), and he feels her arm snake around his waist and drag him away. Everything's a haze while he's walking, and his body's so heavy that he feels like he could fall over at any given moment. 

His head rolls and he can't describe where he's going, but he knows he's being taken upstairs. He giggles like a maniac and imagines sliding down the banister, but the firm grip on his waist forbids him from doing so. 

The next thing he realizes is that there's a comfy bed beneath his body. He rolls lazily into it, digs his face into the pillow, and then flops onto his back. He spreads his legs and arms out and does lazy bed-angels, which has him cackling. 

"Does it look like an angel?" he asks, voice slow and slurred. 

He doesn't know if Jenny responds.

He looks up at the ceiling and stares at the fan that's spinning above him. His finger reaches up and spins, copying the movement of the fan. "That's what my brain feels like," he says. He laughs again, because everything is suddenly funny, and because he can. "I think I'll sleep. Maybe I'll dream happily. Maybe my life is the dream, and when I fall asleep, I'll wake up." He pauses. "Fuck. My brain hurts."

There's a laugh in the room, and he laughs back at it.

"Tell Dionysus goodnight for me!"

Heavy eyelids force shut, and soon, snores rumble past his lips.

———

The first thing he does when he wakes up is vomit. He almost misses the toilet. 

After emptying his stomach, he stands with a frown and grips at his pounding head. It's very bright in the room he's in (it looks to be a spare bedroom in Niall's house), so he stumbles out and nearly falls down the stairs. 

Liam and Niall are sitting in the kitchen with tired eyes and cups of coffee in front of them. He saunters over, plops himself down in an empty chair, and pushes the trash off the table in front of him. They all groan in unison.

"Never throwing a party again," Liam mumbles. He shakily sips from his mug.

"I can't say the same," Niall says. He forces a grin but his face contorts afterwards like it hurt, so he frowns again. 

"I feel horrible," Harry mumbles. 

"You look like freshly dropped shit," Niall comments.

Harry flips him off and feels him stomach lurch. He forces himself not to throw up again. "I don't even remember most of last night," he says. Which is true. The last thing he remembers is dancing with Jenny at some point before everything disappears. His head throbs the more he tries to force himself to think about it.

"Sounds about right. You unbuttoned the top of your outfit and demanded to be called Dionysus last night," Liam says. He looks like he's about to laugh but can't get it out.

"What?" Harry replies, mortified.

"Four nips and all were out," Niall snorts. 

Harry wanted to crawl underneath the table and never go out in public ever again.

"Holy shit, it smells like a weed bomb went off in here!"

Niall's sister, Tracy, walks in with her suitcase trailing behind her. She stops and stares at the boy's pitifully sitting around the table, and rolls her eyes impatiently. 

"Keep it down, bitch," Niall groans out.

Tracy gasps, walks over to Niall, and smacks him on the back of the head. He inhales sharply through his teeth and rubs at the spot she smacked with an angry look on his face. Harry almost laughed, but his headache forced him not to. Tracy catches his eye and her hard looks soften immediately.

"Harry, do you need anything? You look ill."

"It's called being hungover, Trace. Get the fuck out!" Niall shouts.

She smacks him on the back of the head again, then yanks his ear. "I'll tell mum about your party, Niall! Don't test me!"

Harry lets a laugh escape his lips, but it pains him to do so. "I'm just hungover."

She nods, lets go of Niall's ear, and then walks back to her suitcase. "Better clean before Mum and Dad get back!" she quickly walks up the stairs, and Harry swears he hears her evilly laughing on the way up.

It feels like an hour had passed before he could get himself to stand up and clean the things around him. It was awful. Niall and Liam were trailing trash bags everywhere with empty beer bottles and cups, and Harry was trying to organize the living room back into the usual setup. Dionysus was long gone, but Harry was too ill to ask about where he went, and who would steal a statue like that. Maybe Lily came back to get it to return it to its rightful place. He swept gold streamers up and tried to get them all off the banister. A boy and girl lay in the closet underneath the stairs, and Harry had to poke them with his broom to wake them up. They ran out soon after. 

It was very late by the time they were done. At this moment, Harry agrees with Liam about not throwing another party again. It's way too much work when you're hungover. Harry may have had to take multiple breaks to dry-heave into the toilet, but he didn't want to think much on that. He's sure once he took a long nap, he would feel better. 

Once the furniture was styled back, Harry left with a lazy wave. He slumped to Niall's front door, opened it tiredly, and winced as the cold wind slapped against his face harshly. He buttoned the top of his jumpsuit up and frowned deeply.

"Fuck it all to hell," he mutters to himself. He needs to start driving himself around. Liam offered to drive him back, but he was still helping Niall clean, and Harry felt like he could fall out in a deep slumber at any second if he stuck around.

He walks down the driveway, and he whines pathetically, because his boots hurt his feet. He's such a pansy that he's starting to hate himself more than usual.

"Oh, hey."

Harry frowns and forces himself to look up. Over the small hedge that divides Niall's house from Louis', is Louis himself. He's got a camera in his hand and a thick, white sweater on. It looks unbelievably cozy and Harry's annoyed.

"Hey," he says back. His voice is tired and slow and raspy—he sounds nothing like himself. He's a bit hoarse from shouting and singing all night.

Louis smiles, keeps his eyes on Harry's and nods back to his Mustang. "Let me drive you home. You can barely walk."

And Harry normally would have said no. Honestly. But it's freezing outside, his feet hurt, and the idea of walking home in his state makes him want to cry and throw up all at the same time. So slowly he nods, accepts the offer, and makes his way around the hedge to follow Louis to his car. They don't say anything to each other when they head to the car, and nothing is said when they both sit in it. Harry's just thankful it's warm. He shivers and rubs his arms, and then leans his head back on the leather seat. He used to stress the importance of keeping himself small when riding in this car, but at the moment, he doesn't give a shit. 

"Have fun last night?" He asks. His tone is curious, and maybe even a little humorous.

Harry groans and feels nauseous thinking back on last night. The thought of alcohol has his stomach churning. "I guess."

"You and your girlfriend seemed to be enjoying yourselves."

Harry opens his eyes at that and he looks over at Louis. His eyes are on the road, one hand on the steering wheel, and his face remains blank. He's trying to read what he means by the phrasing, and what Louis thinks he saw, and why he was around to see him with anyone. Louis knows he doesn't have a girlfriend—he's talked to him about this. Why did he imply it?

Harry scratches his head, smooths over his hair, and looks back at Louis. "I don't—I don't have a girlfriend. Who are you talking about?"

Louis laughs, but doesn't look at Harry. Harry wants to look at his eyes—maybe he can read what Louis' thinking about if he can stare into his eyes. But he never turns his head.

"Nothing. She seemed nice, though, mate."

Harry's head pounded. He closed his eyes to think about last night, only to shoot them open when he suddenly remembers. It feels like a distant memory from a dream when he sees it in his head, and that terrible nauseous feeling returns.

"Jenny? She's not my girl, Louis. She's a friend—Gemma's friend. We met at Gem's birthday party last Monday." And why was he explaining himself to Louis? He didn't owe him anything.

Louis remained blank-faced, but then he smiles. "She likes you! Obviously. You should go for it."

Harry's going to throw up.

Luckily Louis reaches his house. He thanks him for the ride, grips the door handle, but stops himself from leaving. "I'm sorry," he says. He looks at the dashboard with his brows drawn in; he can't bring himself to look at Louis. "For...last weekend. What happened. I'm sorry." He hastily opens the door and closes it behind himself, not daring to look at Louis before he makes his way inside his house with a shaky sigh.

The house is dead silent inside, so he sneaks upstairs to his room to try and avoid any questions his mum or sister might throw his way. He can't handle a conversation right now. He showers, changes into clean clothes, and passes out on his bed within a span of ten minutes.


	14. 13.

It was midday before he got out of bed. He spent most of yesterday recovering with water and decent food, with a long night's rest to finish it off. Anne never questioned him—she must have known how he was feeling and didn't want to intrude. He can faintly remember the first time Gemma came home horribly hungover. Their mum sat her down and talked about drinking responsibly, but soon gave up when it became a reoccurring thing every weekend. She'd talked to Harry about her worries—about how she knew Gemma was out of her reach, and how she had to let things happen with her. Talking would no longer work; she could no longer reason with her eldest daughter.

Harry then told her he wouldn't be that way. He said if he did ever drink, it wouldn't be a crazy amount. 

"Oh, Harry. You will drink too much at some point. You'll be of age and want to experience things. And that's all right, dear, but you have to be safe. You have to be wise, and trust your people to look after you. And you mustn't let it consume you, or be your way of escaping. Have your fun, but be cautious of how dangerous the enticement can be," she had said.

Harry had rolled his eyes at her. Her words were too wise and serious. "Okay, mum. I get it."

Still, he had promised to drink safely, and when he'd drink too much, it was because of the experience and not because of the turmoil of his life. Sadly, he doesn't know if he kept his promise on that one.

"Harry. Feeling better?" His mum sneakily asks.

He purses his lips and noses around for a snack in the cabinets, before turning and staring at his mum with a shy look. Her features held amusement as she glanced over the newspaper on the table, a glass of water pressing to her mouth before she takes a sip.

"I am," he mutters. Finally he moves to sit at the table, and her eyes look over to him at that. "I'm sorry. I should've told you about—the...the other night. I didn't think I'd get so drunk," he embarrassingly spoke. He didn't want to talk to his mother about this.

"Yeah, you didn't tell me at all! Gemma, of all people, told me you were helping throw a party!" She sets her glass down and shakes her head with a small laugh.

He quirks an eyebrow. "Gemma? Wait, so you knew about it?"

She nods. "Yes. But it was your first time. You're of age. It was bound to happen. Just glad you're safe, love."

He shakes his head at her words and lovingly smiles at her, head moving to rest on his hand which is propped up on the table. "You're the best mum, you know."

She laughs and reaches over to pat his head. "You're doing the washing up for a week, dear. Hope you had your fun, though."

Harry scoffs and hits his back against the chair with a shocked laugh. Before he could retort, there was a knock at the door. Humor left the room like it was a tangible thing a vacuum could suck up. He stood slowly and headed for the door. The realization that it could be his father made his stomach twist, and it stayed like that until he opened the door. Confusion replaced the twisting, and he stared at Jenny with pinched brows and uncomfortable silence.

Finally, he says, "Gemma's working."

Jenny giggles. Yellow sunglasses sit at the bridge of her nose, with a matching miniskirt buttoned up her waist. A purple, floral blouse hugs her torso, and sheer tights run down her legs and tuck into yellow heels. Her hair is curlier today, styled in more of an afro style that she didn't previously have. She looks like someone out of a magazine.

"I know," she says. She takes off her sunglasses and folds them up. "I'm here to see you. May I come in?"

Harry nods and smooths out the shirt he slept in with embarrassment. He opens the door wider for her to walk in, and she does with a smile, shoes clacking against the flooring with her confident walk. Harry shuts the door and clears his throat when they pause in front of the entryway to the kitchen, where his mum is looking between the two with a raised brow.

"This is Jenny, Mum," Harry says to her. 

She looks as if she's hiding back a smile. "You're a friend of Gemma's, right?"

Jenny straightens her shoulders and gives the sweetest of smiles. "Yes, I am! Lovely to see you again."

"You as well, dear," Anne says.

Harry clears his throat and heads for the stairs; it would be best for them to leave as quickly as possible. After motioning for Jenny to follow him, they walk up the stairs hastily and find themselves in Harry's room moments later. He quickly fixes the sheets on his bed and tidies up what he can before turning awkwardly to Jenny with a forced smile.

She steps into the room and looks around quietly, her eyes roaming curiously, before she plops onto the bed and leans back on her elbow. She motions to the wall with a flick of her head. "Yellow."

Harry nods. He's not sure what to say to that, because it wasn't exactly a question. "It's my favorite color," he explains. He moves to sit at his desk to put some distance between them.

"Why are you so—" She stops, shakes her head, and smiles softly. "Never mind."

He bites the inside of his cheek nervously and tries to figure out why she's here to see him. But he soon realizes thinking about it, and not asking, will do nothing for him. "Why are you here?" he asks. He winces at his words, disliking the phrasing he chose.

But she was unfazed. "Just wanted to see ya."

Harry still chewed on the inside of his cheek. "I like your hair," he quietly says. He doesn't really know how to talk to girls, and the only time they've "talked" was when he was drunk.

She pats at her afro with a wide smile that spreads throughout her face. "Thank you! Just had it done."

Harry smiles at her and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. "And I like your sunglasses." He feels like complimenting things was the best way to go. He doesn't really know what to talk about, but he really did like her sunglasses.

"You're strange," she laughs out. "Let's go somewhere."

He shifts in his seat and awkwardly laughs. "Where?"

"Anywhere. I don't know. I just like talking to you."

"When I'm drunk," he says. More as a joke, but the smile leaves her face almost immediately. 

"No. That's not—not just like that." 

Her face falls and she looks down at his bedsheet, finger absentmindedly running over the top of it. Harry's never seen her like that—not confident. She always carries herself with such poise, and when she says things, it's matter-of-fact. It's not in a quiet tone, nor are her words ever stuttered. Harry can't help but smile at that. He likes seeing her more chilled out.

"Milkshakes? At the diner?" He suggests, already standing. "I need to change before we leave."

She moves her head up quickly, sees he's standing, and begins to get off his bed. "Yeah, sure. Milkshakes." She whispers the last word, as if she was wasn't sure of the task and had to taste the word in her mouth to see if she'd like it. Then she smiles confidently and walks to the door. "You're driving!"

———

Harry wasn't expecting to like hanging out with Jenny. The girl was funny and liked the same music Harry did, which shocked him. He didn't think she'd be the type. Girls don't usually like music like he does, and although Jenny isn't in love with it like Harry, she does respect it. And Harry's just shocked. That's the only word to describe it.

He's only talked this way with his mates, joked with his mates this way—never with a girl before. It felt surprisingly normal.

"So you've never had a girlfriend? Not once?" she asks. 

Harry stares at her straw which she's twirling in her milkshake. They had been talking about random things, and somehow, Harry let it slip that he's never had a girlfriend. It was obvious, given how he'd confessed about only kissing one person when he was drunk out of his mind. But he wasn't uncomfortable talking about it with her for some reason.

"Not once," he mutters. He leans back in the booth seat and releases a sigh. "Don't ask me why, because I don't know."

She stares at him, eyes flicking between one another, before she slowly nods. "All right. So who do you fancy, then? You said you kissed someone."

Harry rolls his eyes and laughs. "I also said that was a mistake!"

She laughs, hand coming up to cover her mouth, before she shakes her head. "Who was it, then?"

Harry huffs. The familiar feeling when thinking about Louis returns; it spreads through his stomach and twitches the tips of his fingers. He's gotten used to pushing the feeling down, but it's still strong enough to make his heart pound in his ears. 

He stays silent, eyes avoiding Jenny's, as he tries to think of a way to answer that. He doesn't know how to talk about it truthfully—sure, he's confessed about kissing someone, but not the full story. And it's eating him alive. But he can't possibly tell anyone. The judgment that will follow will crush him, he knows it. This will have to be a secret he lives with for the rest of his life.

Harry opens his mouth to try and say something, but no words tumble out. Of course his words fail him when he needs them most. Anything will do at this point—any lie—but nothing comprehensible forms in his brain. It makes him look like a fish, gaping one moment, and then closing his mouth the next. He hates it.

"I—" he starts, only to be cut off.

"Young Harry."

Of-fucking-course.

Harry feels himself freeze, his body stilling instantly at the voice. He can feel Jenny watching him, eyeing him suspiciously almost. He sucks in a deep breath and tries to smile, but fails miserably. His eyes finally shoot up at Louis, who's smiling widely down at him with crossed arms and an unfamiliar look in his eye. Harry's brows furrow at that.

"Louis," he says, brows still drawn. "What brings you here?" He almost slaps himself. Obviously it's for food.

"Just getting food to-go," he calmly says, mouth still turned upwards. "Feeling better?"

Harry nods quickly. His nerves are getting to the best of him, and his heart is pounding so hard in his chest he feels like he could faint. It's a bit ridiculous. "Yeah, I am. Things...good? With you? Are things good?"

Louis releases a small laugh and nods his head. "Yeah. Things are good." It's a quick look, but he sees Louis glance over at Jenny before settling back on Harry. "You need to swing by and get those photograph's. They're all developed. And maybe you can drop off a few of your records for me to listen to."

Harry feels himself calming at the mention of familiar things. The things they talked about before the mistake of the century. "Absolutely," he says, a smile tugging at his mouth. Maybe things will be okay between them.

"Well, I'll head off. Nice seeing you, Harry." He throws a smile in Jenny's direction before turning and walking away. He goes to the counter to retrieve a bag of food, and then is out the door within seconds.

Harry loudly sighs.

"Who was that?" Jenny asks, eyes squinting at the state of Harry.

"Uh," he starts, hand running through his hair, "Louis. He moved here not too long ago."

"You're close?" Her eyes are still squinted.

Harry shrugs. "Not really. Kinda. Maybe? I'm not sure."

She nods slowly. Harry tries to brush off all the emotions he just went through, but it was harder than he thought. He can't believe how shaken up he is just by a small conversation with Louis. And poor Jenny was there to witness it all. He hopes she doesn't think he's weird by how he acted with Louis, but he can't tell what she's thinking. 

"I think Matty and Barry are hanging later if you want to come," she slowly says, eyes on her milkshake.

Harry clears his throat. "I'm not in the mood for drinking."

She laughs. Full on laughs, head tilted back and all. "That's not all we do, Harry!" She pauses, a wide smile on her face, before saying, "Do you like Matty and Barry?"

Harry shrugs, thinking back to the times he's talked to them. Yeah, he does. He feels embarrassed thinking back to that one moment they caught him watching them make-out. "Yeah. They're good lads."

"They're gay, you know," she immediately says.

Harry furrows his brows, eyes her suspiciously, before slowly nodding. "Yeah. I know. I don't have a problem with that, it that's what you're wondering. And I'm not gonna tell anyone." 

She shakes her head. "I'm not worried about you telling anyone. They're not exactly secretive about it."

Harry rubs the tip of his nose. "How did they...know? Or find each other?"

She smiles softly and taps her fingers on the table, eyes never leaving Harry's. "I'm not sure. We were always friends, and one day it just happened between them. It just made sense."

Harry nodded, listening intently to every word as if there was a hidden message behind them that could offer him some help. But there wasn't. He wishes he could be normal and enjoy milkshakes with a pretty girl, and not think about boys and Louis Tomlinson, and boys who are dating boys. 

He tries to be a normal guy the rest of the evening, but by the time their chitchatting came to a halt, he felt like he was a completely different person. It was like he put on a mask and acted out a role that was everything but himself. A guy who was smiling, joking, and seems perfectly fine on the outside. Even though he's fighting battles in his own head. 

Harry drove her to her car, and denied the offer to go to Matty's house to hang out. He couldn't help it—he was drained. Jenny thankfully understood and said goodbye, leaving a quick kiss to his cheek, and then speeding off in her car. Harry walked inside and basically slumped to the couch, body drained from playing the role in a show he didn't mean to put on. Will it always be this way? When he wants to be friendly and talk about things, but can't, will it always feel like he's hiding behind a curtain while an actor playing him takes the stage? 

———

Harry is going to do it. He is going to face the source of his self-doubt—the rooting of the place where he feels his problems have taken hold most. He inhales, exhales, and then inhales again. He holds the breath this time, feels the way his heart beats hard throughout his entire body, and then releases it. The records he's holding are firmly pressed to his side by his fingers, and he slowly heads up the stairs. Then he stops and immediately walks back down them.

"I can't," he mutters. Then he shakes his head and turns back around, steps up, and makes his way back to Louis' front door. "Yes, you can." He does it quickly because he can't give himself the option to stop and think about it. He knocks, backs up, and clenches the records between his hands. 

The door slowly creeps open, and when Louis finally peeks out behind it, he looks shocked. Which makes Harry feel shocked, and of course his words are failing him, and of course Louis looks great in his dark-washed jeans and simple white shirt. 

"Harry," Louis says, voice laced with surprise. "What're you doing here?"

Harry shakily inhales. "Um, I was hoping to get those photographs. And I'm lending you these records." He holds it out in front of him, showing Louis, and Louis' face goes from shock to soft. "If that's all right. Should've called."

"I think I'm gonna head out now—"

Harry's eyes flick over to the leather jacket clinging to the boy with the perfectly squared jaw and caramel brown eyes. A new wave of feelings wash over Harry. At this point, he thought he was over these crippling new emotions, but this was something else entirely. Harry wants to throw himself down the stairs and force himself to feel something that he caused—something that was in his control. He's sick of this, and maybe a bit dramatic.

"Zayn?" he questions, stomach twisting, fingers tightening on the records.

Zayn's eyes find Harry, but he remains impassive. "Hey, mate," he casually says.

Harry looks between the two, trying to figure out if their physiques give away the reason as to why they're together. In Louis' house. How do they know each other?

"Right. See you later," Zayn says, brushing past Harry with a small smile, before he heads to the end of the drive where a motorcycle was parked. Harry didn't even realize it was there.

Quickly, Harry turns back to Louis, whose face appears blank now. "How do you—how do—"

"He was asking about my photography," Louis says, voice void of emotion. Almost like he was an automaton. "He's got a sister with a birthday coming up. You know him?"

Harry feels Louis' eyes intensely staring at him and looks away. "Yeah. Kinda? Not really, but kinda."

Louis snorts at Harry's words. "Descriptive. So, you coming in?"

He looks back at him and hesitantly nods, stepping inside when Louis moves away from the door. He hadn't been back to his house in what feels like forever, and he can't help but feel uncomfortable with being alone with him. How can they go from almost being good mates to this? To Harry not knowing how to act or feel around him? Harry regrets kissing him and ruining what could've been. He hates that when he stares at Louis' mouth, he knows what it's like to feel his silky, red lips on his. And right now they're very red. And wet when he darts his tongue out to swipe at them. Harry can't look away.

"What kind of records did you bring?"

Finally, his eyes move away from Louis' mouth and he looks down at what's in his hands, then holds them up. "Eagles, Aerosmith, Fleetwood Mac, and Led Zeppelin."

"Fleetwood Mac? I think I've heard of them!" Louis says, a smile on his mouth. He leads Harry into the living room, takes the records from his hands, and then spreads them out over the coffee table. 

Harry feels a smile tug at his lips when he watches Louis look through the records with interest. "I don't know how you haven't. They're insanely well-known."

"I'll give them all a listen," Louis says. He takes a few albums out of their sleeves and peeks at them with interest that gives Harry this strange tweak of excitement. "Thanks, mate."

Harry's chest swells.

"You're welcome, Louis," he says, smiling widely, meaning every word. Mate. "I hope you like them. They're some of my favorites. Especially that Eagles record. I put it on all the time and listen to it—it's just a nice album to do everything to. Study, dance, sing along. All of it."

"You dance to this in your room?" Louis asks, amused, eyes staring into Harry's.

Harry flushes. Goddamn it.

He nods, hair spilling onto his face, as he tries to suppress a smile that's forming. "Sometimes you gotta get a good dance in," he defends half-heartedly.

Louis laughs wonderfully, one that shakes his shoulders and spreads a smile over his entire face. "Yeah, I agree. Yeah."

A peaceful silence drifts between them. Harry can feel Louis staring at him (he always knows now), but his eyes remain on his records. 

"Let me get your photos," Louis says. 

He walks off down the hall where his darkroom is, and Harry makes himself comfortable on the couch by the coffee table. His eyes wander around the room, hoping to see some kind of decor, but there's nothing. It makes him feel lonely; he hopes Louis doesn't feel that way. He clears his throat, as if to clear his head, when Louis returns with handfuls of photographs of himself. Harry leans up on the sofa and takes them from Louis, carefully looking through each one.

"Louis," he softly says, voice quiet. He's amazed. There's some of him from the dance that make his stomach lurch, but it goes away quickly. They're of him dancing with his mates, and he looks genuinely happy. It's weird seeing him grinning from ear to ear, hands in the air while he dances, since all he takes away from that night is the stupid kiss. He forgot he was actually having fun before that. "You're so talented," he nearly whispers, still flicking through each photo. "I should pay you."

"No, absolutely not," he says, voice firm. He's sitting on the sofa beside Harry and watching him inspect every picture. "Can I ask you something?"

Harry's fingers immediately freeze. His eyes linger on the picture in front of him; it's a photo of him grinning at the camera goofily when they went to the diner together. Though his mind is racing, he finally says, "Sure." He hoped it sounded firm, but his voice wavered slightly.

"How are you? With your dad—is everything all right?"

And Harry wasn't expecting that.

He finally gains the courage to meet Louis' gaze, and he surprisingly finds comfort in it. His eyes remain soft—worried. Worried for him? He hopes so—it's nice. "I'm good, yeah. Thanks." 

Louis furrows his brows and squints at him for just a moment. "Don't bullshit me. Honestly—are you okay?"

Harry huffs and chews on the inside of his mouth, rubs the tip of his nose, and then shrugs. "I dunno, Louis. I don't know." Louis' quiet. Harry's eyes fall back to the picture because he's not sure he wants Louis reading his face. "It's hard. It's all new, like—like..." he pauses, tries to think about how he wants to word things. "Like I'm supposed to be okay with all this. I have to go to dinner with him every Wednesday and act like I enjoy the company he and his mistress have to offer. I don't—" he stops, sighs, shakes his head, and looks up to the extravagant windows showing off the backyard. 

Harry's always struggled with talking about how he feels. Sometimes he can get it out like a normal person, and he can rant to Liam and Niall, but it's not enough. Maybe because there's this feeling that's cast over him like a never-ending shadow filled with his secrets, ones he can never mutter to another living soul for fear of being judged or cast aside, unwanted and rejected. It's hard to talk about how he feels to people because he fears they'll say everything he's afraid of hearing. That he's being ridiculous, or worse: they just won't care. Keeping things shoved down is easier. It's easier than letting things off his chest and facing what the reactions will be—he can't take it if it's not what he needs to hear. He can't. 

"Why can't he—he just...like me?" It feels like he's shrinking in his seat. He's not sure why he's talking to Louis about this, but it's rushing out before he can stop it. "He tries to push these things on me and says I need to grow up and get a proper job. He's not interested in me—his son—but of what I'm supposed to do as a man. He wants to talk about school, work, and that's it! He doesn't care about me or my feelings. If I show I have feelings, he doesn't want anything to do with me!" Harry feels his eyes getting prickly and quickly darts his head to the side, away from Louis' eyes. 

"I think it's a shame he's not allowing himself to get to know you, Harry." Louis reaches out and pats his shoulder; Harry can't turn his head and look at him—his eyes are welling up too much. "Nothing's your fault. Your father is just pushing the things his father—and fathers before—have pushed onto their sons."

Harry still can't turn to face him. He can't let Louis know he's devouring every word he's offering like a man denied of water after being stranded on a desert for months on end. He scratches his eyes when he feels tears are about to spill over.

"I'm interested in you, Harry. If that counts for anything."

Harry sniffles, "scratches" his eyes once more, and then turns to face Louis with a sincere smile. "It does. Thanks."

Louis removes his hand from his shoulder and and places it in his lap, eyes roaming over the records on the table. "Is there anything else you wanna get off your chest?"

Harry shakes his head. "I think you should listen to these and ring me immediately after." He stands, photos in hand, and smiles genuinely. "But make sure to really listen to them! I'll be quizzing you afterwards on the ones you enjoyed."

Louis stands with him, walks behind him when he heads for the door, and almost plows into him when Harry stops abruptly. He's grinning stupidly when he turns to Louis, and Louis' features appear confused and pinched. "I actually have something else to get off my chest," he says, matter-of-factly. Louis' brow raises. "Decor."

Louis immediately rolls his eyes. "I don't need it."

Harry's eyes widen, but he can't bite his tongue. "You do! Louis, I swear—you need something. Let me help you. I'll find you things around the shops here. Just tell me what you like."

Louis squints his eyes at Harry, eyeing him suspiciously as if he's not sure whether or not to trust him with such a task. "I don't know. This is coming from someone that paints their walls yellow."

Harry scoffs, turns swiftly, and makes for the door. "Offer revoked!"

"Hang on!" Louis shouts after him. Harry's already got the door open and stepped outside into the brisk, chilly evening weather. "Harry!"

Harry stops himself from taking the first step down the stairs, and instead faces Louis with a slight, smug smile. "Yes?"

"I was joking. You can help, fine." Louis frustratedly runs a hand through his feathery hair, and when he pulls it away, it still sits perfectly atop his head.

"Fine," Harry repeats, allowing the smile to consume his face. He can't help it. The presence of Louis can make his head spin, that is certain, but it also clears it and sometimes leaves him elated. Being friends with Louis Tomlinson is a rollercoaster of emotions, and he hopes he's strapped in tight enough for the ride.


	15. 14.

Harry may or may not be getting close with Jenny. Gemma may or may not had voiced her disliking for this. Harry definitely didn't listen to her.

Jenny, throughout the rest of the week, would pop in unexpectedly and sit with Harry to do nothing. Sometimes conversation would slack because of homework consuming his social skills, but she said she didn't mind. She said she liked being around him. And Harry took this very seriously, because not once did she overstep or leap at him like the first night they met. She's completely different when she's alone, and Harry can't help but admire her.

She's confident, yes, but there's more to her. She loves poetry—more than music—and Harry almost passed out when he discovered this information. And she also enjoys writing it. Harry since has begged to read something of it, which she's firmly denied every time. He's just glad she told him of such a thing, but said if he told anyone else, he was a dead man. He didn't argue with that.

Gemma was constantly pestering him to figure out why they're hanging out so much now, but he truthfully replied every time: they're just friends. Even his own mother was having her suspicions, but Harry was quick to put them in their place. Jenny was oblivious to his family and their questions, because once she was over, they were in Harry's room listening to records and talking about little things. She would write sometimes, and he would do his homework.

She's twenty and attends a university a few towns over, where she's learning more about literature and poets that he's never heard of. Jenny told him things about university that makes him excited about that next chapter of his life—the freedom it holds. He'd asked why she doesn't live there, but she told him room and board was too expensive and unnecessary, since she was a short train away. He absentmindedly wrote down the university's name in his binder.

"Have you thought about Uni?" Jenny asked one day, in her usual spot on his bed with a journal in front of her. She was wearing a baby pink top that day.

He'd groaned, leaned back in his chair, and turned his head to look at her. "Yeah. But I don't know what I wanna do."

She'd glanced over at him, then back down at her journal. "Music."

He'd snorted. "What even is that?"

She'd rolled her eyes and put her pencil down to give him a look. "Study the history of music, learn everything there is to know. Get a degree and teach your passion or something. Or become someone that produces music. That's what it is."

Harry, since then, has been thinking on it nonstop. And looking into school's that have good music programs. He's just never been the brightest in class, and teachers have noticed how much he's been slacking lately. His english teacher had called him over after class to ask what was going on, and Harry was completely at a loss for words. Not only have his troubles attacked his brain on the daily, but now they're transpiring into his schoolwork. Can't he just catch a break?

He may have also had run into Zayn and begged him to teach him how to play any instrument. Anything at all. It was a bit ridiculous how desperate he was being, but he needed to figure out something productive, and music is what made him happy. Listening to it and learning about the musicians behind the albums made him happy. He wanted to learn how to create his passion.

"Do you even own a guitar? Piano?" He had asked, back in the dark classroom filled with instruments. Same leather jacket as always. Same perfectly squared jaw as always.

"I can find something!" Harry frustratedly said. "I'll borrow something from here."

Zayn had rolled his eyes and a humorless laugh escaped his mouth. "Get an instrument first. Show me you're serious and I'll consider it."

Harry was very annoyed with him; annoyed he had to beg to learn, and annoyed he was being mysterious and all too handsome at the same time. Harry just wanted to talk, but it was like Zayn made it his mission to reply shortly and then excuse himself from the conversation. That's not how you make friends. But, now, Harry is on a mission to get an instrument in his grasp. Any kind will do, but he has a soft spot for guitars, so he prefers a guitar. 

Of course, everything he looked into was well over his price range, so he'd given up on the thought of owning and playing an instrument. And with a surprise turn of events, he was at Louis' house while he developed pictures, so that he could study peacefully away from the girls in his household. He had rung him right after class to see if he was able to come over, and Louis happily obliged. Ever since their last bonding session, things have begun to shift into normalcy. Harry can talk to him without his stomach churning, and hanging out didn't seem like such an impossible task anymore. It was very nice to have, especially since he gets to study in his great, big house without a care in the world.

"How's it coming, then?" Louis questions once he emerges from the hallway.

Harry's sprawled his things over the coffee table and is sat on the floor beside it. His brain is also a jumbled mess from the textbooks he's tried reading. "Nonsense. It's all nonsense."

Louis laughs. It echoes around the empty room and bounces from wall to wall, and Harry thinks if his laugh could be a decor piece, he'd fill his house with it in an instant. But he shakes his head at that thought and tries to not focus too much on it. 

"You need a break. You've been at it for a few hours, Young Harry." He moves around the couch and over to the small table, only to close his textbooks and binders of jumbled notes. Harry frowns. "What?" he asks, noticing his frown.

"You've made me lose my place," he says, but a smile tugs at his lips anyway. "Well, what shall I do, then? I need good grades. It's my last year."

"I know, but you'll go crazy staring at that all day. Just take a small break."

Harry leans back and rests against the couch behind him. He mindlessly twirls his pencil between his fingers and furrows his brows in thought. He's always pinching his eyebrows together—he's certain he's bound to have a prominent wrinkle there soon.

"I'm thinking of learning an instrument," he blurts out. Only because he can't stand silence, and because he wants to talk with Louis about it.

"Oh, really?" he asks, brows raising with his eyes on Harry. "What kind?"

Harry shrugs, stops the twirling of the pencil, and sighs. "Anything I can get my hands on."

Louis nods thoughtfully and stands from his spot on the couch. The thoughtful look never leaves his face. It looks like his mind is running laps through his brain and he can't slow it down. And then he's walking off. Completely walking off and abandoning Harry from where he sits on the floor (his bum is terribly numb), and really, that's very rude. So he stands and follows after him, curiosity getting the best of him, as he approaches new territory he's yet to explore at Louis' home: the upstairs portion.

It's stupidly large. The staircase leads to the opening upstairs, with a wooden railing wrapped around nearly the entirety of the second floor. A few other rooms seem to reside here, but Louis passes all of them to open the double doors at the end of the hall. Harry bites the corner of his lip and tentatively follows over him, stepping slowly into the room, and his jaw definitely drops.

It's the largest bedroom he's ever seen.

And it's very Louis-esque.

Everything is still painfully white, but at least there's a huge bed resting against the far right wall with white, untucked sheets. Clothes are strewn across the floor, unpacked boxes lay stacked against a wall in the corner. Harry's eyes slightly widen at the television sitting across his bed on the opposing wall, because what? Two televisions in one house? He's never heard of that!

French doors open to the balcony at the front of the house that he's always stared at from the front yard, and he can't believe it comes from Louis' bedroom. He tries to imagine waking up every morning to an extravagant place like this, opening up the doors to the balcony and having tea while the morning sun comes up. Playing his records and enjoying a drink at night. It's quick thoughts that soon vanish when Louis throws open the door to his closet and disappears in it. Harry stays put. He already feels too intrusive for his liking—he's not even sure if Louis knows he followed him.

When Louis emerges, he's smiling and holding a black case of sorts. He walks over to the unmade bed and throws the case on it, opens the latches, and reveals what was inside. Harry can't move fast enough. 

"What's—where—?" 

"I think it was my dad's," Louis responds.

Harry stares at the light-brown colored guitar, gaping at it, raking it up and down. The word Epiphone was engraved at the top by the tuners, and Harry didn't know if that was a good guitar brand or not, but he really didn't care. But the smile and widened eyes quickly vanish from his face, because Louis hadn't offered him anything. There's no way he's giving him this guitar—it belonged to his father. 

"You can borrow it, Harry. If you're really passionate about—about learning and—"

Harry couldn't help himself. He threw his arms around Louis' neck and pulled him maybe too close in a tight hug, face nuzzling in the crook of his neck, and a smile plastered on his face like a madman. "Louis," he says, voice quiet, "thank you."

He pulls away before Louis has a chance to hug him back.

———

"Zayn!" He shouts out. He slams open the classroom door which holds all the band's instruments and sees Zayn sitting on a desk with his guitar in his lap. Harry places the guitar case in his grasp on the floor, gets it out, and holds it up when he walks over. "I have an instrument."

Zayn quirks an eyebrow and stops plucking the strings on his guitar. Harry thinks he only has one outfit: white shirt, light-wash jeans, and a leather jacket. His hair is slicked back today but a curl falls onto his forehead.

"I see that," he plainly says, unimpressed.

Harry rolls his eyes, huffs and tightens his grip on the guitar. "Teach me, Zayn. Please."

"Why is this so important to you?" He gets off the desk and puts his guitar on a nearby stand, then turns his gaze back to Harry.

Harry gapes. "It just is. Music means so much to me. I need to—to know more about it. I need to know everything there is to it and understand it wholeheartedly. I just—I don't know."

"Okay," Zayn immediately says. His thick brows draw in and he stares at Harry, face blank, but he nods. "I'll try to teach you. When and where?"

Harry tries not to squeal and jump from utter joy, and instead, his eyes flit over the room, thinking about a good time and place where this could happen. "Um. When are you free?" A smile still spreads over his face, unable to contain that one piece of happiness from slipping through.

"Thursday nights," he replies. A soft look passes over his features when he stares at Harry's happy ones, and Harry happily accepts that. "Definitely will be at your house. Too many sisters at mine."

Harry nods eagerly and keeps his grin wide. He can't help it—even if his cheeks are aching from the smile. He's just a tad bit excited.

———

Wednesday was as awful as ever. Elaine made her usual wonderful meals, and Harry sat through it with forced pleasantries and tried to seem happy. School was good. Friends were good. No girlfriend yet, dad, sorry. 

It was dull. It was as uncomfortable as ever. Harry doesn't understand why his father wants these meals with him, or why he wants to endure the awkwardness. Surely he senses it, too! It can't just be Harry. And maybe Harry was catching an attitude, because as soon as dinner was over, he said his goodbye's and left without offering to do the washing up as usual. He just needed to be away from it all. Every time he leaves home to go to this God forsaken place, he can see the emotional toll it takes on his mum. She's unhappy, deep down. She's hiding it for Gemma and Harry, trying to be the person she used to be, but she hates seeing him go off to dinner with his father. 

He gets home with a tired hunch to his shoulders, flings the keys on the coffee table, and instantly falls to the couch beside his mum. He leans his head on her shoulder and pays no mind to the show playing on the television screen.

"How was your father's?" she asks, tone light. She was forcing herself not to sound nosy, he could tell.

"Dreadful. How long do you think this will last?" he asks, a slight pout to his lips.

"No clue, love, sorry. Until he gets bored, I suppose."

He frowns. "He's truly awful, I think. I don't understand him."

She sighs. "I guess I don't either. With what he did... Yeah, I don't know him at all." She sounds sad. Tired. Broken.

Harry's frown deepens.

There's a sudden knock on the door and Harry huffs out of annoyance, but Anne is quick to jump up to see who it is. He lazily stayed put, tilting his head to see who it could be. Once the door is open, a girl sobs her way inside. Anne clutches her arm around Jenny, who looks as if she's about to collapse. Harry shoots up and hurriedly walks to Jenny, wrapping a firm arm around her, before he walks her to the couch. He sits beside her, arm still wrapped around her for comfort, and then she's crying into his shoulder. He looks to his mum with wide eyes, confused.

"I'll make some tea," she softly says before heading to the kitchen.

"Hey," Harry carefully says. "Jenny, what's wrong?"

"I'm stupid," she cries. Her tears soak his shirt. "I'm absolutely stupid, Harry!"

Harry patted her waist. "You're definitely not stupid."

She looks up at him, eyes puffy, lips frowning, and a look of horrible sadness in her brown eyes. It broke Harry. He didn't want to see his friend so upset. 

"I thought—I thought I was okay. You know? That words couldn't affect me like that. But, fuck, they do. They really do," she sobs out, hands coming up to her face. She tries to calm herself down and Harry doesn't say anything, just waits patiently. "I was with these guys. They were nice, but one got too handsy and I got rude with him. Then he called me...terrible things. Because of the color of my skin. Terrible things. I can't even repeat it, Harry. It's awful," she cries out, lower lip quivering.

"What the fuck," he whispers out, pulling Jenny closer to him in a tight hug. She cries into his chest, and he rubs a hand on her back. "I'm glad you're safe. Jenny, whatever they said—I'm so sorry."

Anne emerges with a cup of tea, an apologetic look on her face. Jenny straightens away from Harry's grasp and accepts the cup with a shaky hand. Before he knows it, Anne is sitting down beside her and placing a hand on her cheek.

"Men are bastards. You're beautiful, Jenny. You're a strong, young woman, don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Harry chewed at his lip worriedly, watching as his mum hugged Jenny before leaving with a smile, and Jenny sipped down some tea before setting it on the coffee table in front of them. She slowly turns to look at Harry, eyes still puffy and red, before she sniffles loudly.

"I'll be okay," she quietly says with a nod. "I'm just sick of boys, Harry! Thinking they can say and do whatever they want to girls like me. Like I owe them my body!" She shakes her head angrily, then settles her gaze back to Harry. "You've never been that way. You've always been so sweet and caring, and you're such a good listener. You are. I told you about my poetry, and I don't tell anyone that. Not even Gemma." She moves closer to Harry, tucking herself at his side. "You're so wonderful. You don't look at me like the other men do. You treat me with respect." He looks down at her, trying to process all her words. She's suddenly really close to his face. "You could be like them, Harry. Use girls without a care in the world—and they'd be happy about it because you're so gorgeous. They'd fling themselves over the chance to do things with you, yet you remain respectful and seem to not even notice the hungry looks girls give you."

Harry furrows his eyebrows, about to say something, but no words come out. Girls look at him like that?

"Why is that? How are you like this?" she softly asks, but Harry doesn't think she's looking for an answer. All too quickly—and it seems like that's how it always happens now—her lips are on his.

Harry doesn't know how to react. He doesn't want to offend her and push her away, not in her broken state. It would only hurt her more. So, he shuts his eyes, and kisses her back. And it's surprisingly not horrible. He still doesn't know how to kiss someone, and finds himself thinking back to Louis and how things went with him. How nice it felt. The music their mouths danced to. This song was a different one, one that held no passionate guitar solos or steady beats. It's a new song that doesn't know the direction it's going in, or what style it wants to be. It's not in sync, and it's not Louis. It's not his smooth, silk-like lips, his intentional touches, his desperation. Harry almost forgot what that kiss felt like, and why it was so hard to shake and see Louis afterwards. This kiss was just a kiss. It was nothing special, and it scares Harry to his core. He should enjoy kissing beautiful girls like Jenny, but he can only think of one boy while doing so.

She pulls apart breathlessly, her hand on his chest, and her face still close to Harry's. Then she pulls away entirely. "Harry, I—um, I'm sorry."

He gulps and nods, trying to compose himself. "It's okay. It was nice."

She laughs maniacally, moving further away from Harry with a shake of her head. "Nice," she repeats. "I throw myself at you and—and you're still..."

Harry bites at the corner of his lower lip, brows tightly drawn in with worry about what she's going to say. He's not normal. He doesn't see the apparent girls that look at him hungrily Instead he sees Louis' stares, his blue eyes with traces of green, the layered bits he's hidden from Harry. That's what he notices. 

"Would you wanna date me?"

And...what?

Harry tries to hide the surprised look from his face.

"Like, when I go out, would you just be there? I'm tired of nasty boys who only want to take advantage," she grumbles out.

Harry's still shocked. He doesn't know what to think. So would it be a pretend relationship? She doesn't seem too interested in him that way, only to fend off perverts. At least, he thinks that's what it is.

"What do you mean?" he finally asks. He has to see what she's trying to say. He's just terribly lost.

"Like...go out with me. We're mates, Harry. Kissing you is nice, but I adore your friendship even more. I think we can have fun together and make people believe we're together, and then those—those guys wouldn't do that to me. You know?"

Harry doesn't know.

"So, like, fake date you? Why?" he questions, brows knitted tightly together. He has to remind himself to stop because he doesn't want a firm wrinkle there.

"I just want to have fun. We've had fun at parties, but I'm fucking sick of being groped and passed around like a blunt." She sighs deeply, staring at Harry with soft eyes, before she shrugs. "Just an idea. You don't have to say yes. I know you're not into me in...that way. Maybe you could use this as an opportunity to practice on me for kissing and shit, I don't care. I trust you. Just let me know when you can, Harry." She reaches out and downs the last of her tea, and gives Harry a kiss on the cheek before standing. "I'll see you. Ring me when you've thought about it."

He watches her leave, frozen in his spot when she walks out the door without as much as a glance behind her. What the hell? What does she expect him to do? If he says yes, what would he get out of it? He can consider faking it when she wants to go out and basically being a shield against dumb boys, but it's all a little weird. Would he have to fool everyone? If he's out with her on the weekends, Gemma will definitely ask questions. They're both close friends. They both party together. Of course she would see them being close. And she would never approve of something like that. 

Harry's head hurts.

He stands and immediately makes for his room. He needs the familiarity and privacy only his yellow walls can give him—a place where he can think more clearly.

———

Classes went by fairly quickly. He was unbelievably excited for the lesson with Zayn that he couldn't keep himself still for a minute. He'd cleaned his entire room and told his mum not to embarrass him with stupid stories about how he used to dance naked to music as a toddler (believe it or not, she brings up that story quite often). 

He'd told Liam and Niall that he's taking guitar lessons from Zayn, and they had questioned who he was and how he knew him.

"New guy. Dark hair, leather jacket—"

"Good jaw?" Liam had asked.

Harry nodded slowly. "Uh, yeah. Him."

Niall had patted his shoulder and wished him good luck, and Liam offered an encouraging smile. He's just extremely excited about the lesson.

He'd thought about bringing up the conversation he had with Jenny, but decided against it. It was her offer, her idea—he couldn't tell them about it since it was her business. And they would possibly judge him if he agreed to fake date a girl. He just doesn't know what to do, honestly, so he'll keep these thought to himself until he figures it out. 

He told Zayn where he lived when he eventually found him at school, and told him a decent time. Now, Harry's sitting on the couch anxiously watching the hands on the clock tick by. The longer he stares at it, the louder the ticking gets, and the more anxious he becomes. Because Zayn's five minutes late. No big deal. Not at all.

He'll be here.

Right?

Harry frowns, tears his eyes away from the clock, and smooths out his jeans. He wouldn't ditch him...

Right?

Then the noise of a motorcycle's engine revs up to the front yard, and Harry's eyes go wide. It's happening! Okay, so Zayn didn't ditch him. Of course he wouldn't, he's not mean. Harry's just a worrier. 

He shoots out of his seat when he hears a knock at the door, hurries over, and then stops himself before opening the door. He breathes in and out to not seem so eager, and when he opened the door, he smiled as normally as he could.

"Hey," he says to Zayn. "Come in."

Zayn does. He walks in with his boots hitting the floor, guitar case in his right hand, and his usual leather jacket covering his upper body. He takes one long sweep over the room, before he settles his eyes on Harry's expectantly.

"Right, um. My room's this way, we can do it there," Harry awkwardly says. He wants to pinch himself for being awkward.

He clears his throat and leads Zayn up to his room. He doesn't say a word, which is normal for him he supposed. He's never been much of a talker, and he doesn't do pleasantries. No small talk. Just right to the point.

"Your sister here?" he questions when he walks into Harry's room.

Harry shakes his head. "Out with Steve, I think. She's always off doing her own thing," he replies. His borrowed guitar is already sitting on the bed, ready to be played. Harry pulls over a chair for Zayn to sit in, and he takes a seat on his bed.

Zayn puts his case down to take out the guitar. "He's kind of a dick, isn't he?" 

Harry shrugs and draws his brows in curiously. "I haven't been around him much..."

Zayn pulls off his jacket and throws it over the chair, guitar in hand as he takes a seat and slides the pick out from underneath the strings. "Right, right," he quietly said, guitar now on his lap. Harry mimicked his movements. "So, I guess you should know the tuning of it." He plucks the top string. "From low to high, it's: E, A, D, G, B, E," he says, plucking each string as he went.

Harry furrows his brows and tries to remember the letters, lips pursing. "E," he says, plucking the top string, before moving to the next one. "D?"

Zayn shakes his head. "If it helps, try to remember this line: Eddie Ate Dynamite, Good-Bye Eddie."

Harry couldn't help but cackle. Zayn had said it so straight-faced that it was impossible not to laugh. But when he realized Zayn hadn't even smiled at his words, Harry quickly wiped his off his face and straightened up to continue the lesson.

It went on for about an hour. Zayn, he learned, was very patient, even when he was obviously frustrated with Harry. But there was no way he wasn't as frustrated as Harry is at himself. For some reason he didn't think it would be so difficult to remember placements or the order of things. Even holding the pick to hit the right string was difficult. Zayn mentioned at one point that he's never given a lesson, so his tips are just what he's learned over the years of playing. The first chord he tried reaching him was G, and Harry thought his fingertips were going to fall off. And his wrist was hurting from the pressure he has to use to be able to push the strings down. It's kind of unfair, really, that the thing he wanted to do most was currently causing him so much pain.

By the end of the hour, Zayn had noticed Harry's defeated look and tried to comfort him by saying, "just practice everyday. It'll become easier, trust me. Your fingertips will callous over in no time."

Harry had only nodded. 

They didn't say much to each other by the time the lesson was up; Harry gave him money and Zayn was on his way after that. When he returned back to his room, he put the guitar away and tucked himself into bed with the covers pulled over his head unhappily.

———

"Of course it hurt, Harry. It will at first."

Harry frowns and considers flipping Louis off. He knows that—he just wanted to rant his frustrations. 

He's studying at Louis' house again, and told him he received his first guitar lesson the day before. Louis happily smiled, badgered him with questions, and rolled his eyes when Harry complained about his fingers hurting.

"Just sympathize with me for a moment, will you?" Harry frowns out as he looks over his pathetic looking fingertips.

Louis suddenly changed facial expressions, one which shows the utmost sympathy and sorrow he could muster. He grabs Harry's hand, and he almost pulls away instinctively, but he doesn't. Louis stares at his fingertips and rubs his thumb over them, brows drawn in sadly. "Oh, poor thing. These poor fingers. How will you live? How can you endure this much longer?"

Harry was staring out of shock. He has to wipe that stupid look off his face before Louis peers up at him and sees it, so he clears his throat and somehow releases a laugh. "I know." And, fuck, his dumb voice betrays him. He tried to sound nonchalant, but instead sounded weak and shaky.

Louis released his hand and didn't seem to notice. "So, who's giving you these lessons?"

Harry feels like his fingers are shaking from where Louis touched them, but that would be absolutely ridiculous. He clenches his hand shut at his side and slouches into the couch they're sitting on. "Zayn is. I had to beg him, you know. He doesn't really like people." He looks down at the book in his lap and bites at his lip. "How'd those pictures go with Zayn's sister?" He only now remembers that, so felt it was appropriate to ask.

Louis coughs so Harry's head shoots up look at him. His whole body is stiff and his gaze is settled on something outside, a blank look washing over his face. Harry wishes he could read his mind in these moments. 

"Yeah, went well. He's, uh, got a sweet family."

Harry nudges Louis' side playfully. "You okay?

Louis quickly snaps his head over to Harry, a confused look on his face as if he was just pulled out of a deep slumber. "Yeah, yeah. Just thinking about how much pain you're gonna be in when you work up to barre chords." A smile spreads over his features, and Harry can't help but smile back. 

Because when the sun shines on you, does it not envelop you in its warmth? If the sun was named after someone, he's sure they wouldn't have come close to Louis Tomlinson and the bright smiles he has to offer. Harry feels the warmth spread throughout his chest, because whereas the sun warms your body, his smile can warm your soul.

Harry suddenly shifts. Shifts away from Louis and to his sensitive fingertips from practicing before he went to Louis'. He gulps thickly and stands, smiling with his mouth tightly closed, as he begins gathering his books together. "I should go," he says, and stuffs his books in his bag. "Thanks for letting me study here. I seem to get a lot done when I'm here for some reason."

Louis stands with Harry and politely smiles that goddamn sunshine-y smile. "Any time, Young Harry."

Harry rolls his eyes, forces a laugh, and heads for the door with his backpack slung over his shoulder. "See you later, Old Louis."

———

As soon as he gets home, he rushes to the rotary and dials a number from memory. He only hopes it's the right one, and when that sweet voice greets him through the phone, he sighs to himself.

"I'll do it," he says to Jenny, "I'll... fake date you."


	16. 15.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk if this will bother anyone?? but this chapter contains the usage of weed. i mean it’s the 70s y’all lollll

Harry usually has to bundle up with two jackets when he's outside. November is here, and he's constantly freezing. But to be fair, he'd rather be cold than hot, so he's trying to not complain.

During the call with Jenny last night, she tried to tell him what all this "fake dating" thing would entail, but Harry's still not a hundred percent sure. She said it's just for show, so she can have fun without the groping of guys when they hear she's with someone, but Harry doubts it will work that well. It only now occurred to him, as he's getting picked up by Jenny, that he has to attend the parties she goes to now. He's still not sure about telling Gemma the truth. He wants to help Jenny, truly, and doesn't want his loud-mouthed sister ruining it.

And he partly needs this lie too.

He's wearing comfortable flared jeans this time, a sweater vest, and a long sleeved shirt underneath. He wants to be comfortable by the end of the night, something he was rather late to realize before his long nights out. He's wearing comfortable boots, too.

He heard the car pulling into his driveway, and went for the door after giving his mum a kiss on the cheek. Outside Jenny was waiting in a burnt orange Ford car applying gloss to her lips. He opened the creaking door and slid in the front seat, and half-smiled at her. Her hair is styled the same, but an orange scarf was tied above her forehead like a headband. It matched her orange, paisley dress, which was floor length, had thin straps, and dipped low on her chest. Her large earrings swayed when she looked his way to smile at him before pulling out of his driveway.

"You look tense," she says, with a hint of laughter coating her words.

Harry shrugs and swipes away the lint on his jeans. "I'm fine."

"Harry," she says, tone suddenly serious, "if you're uncomfortable with what we're doing, tell me now. It's okay if you don't want to do this."

Harry sighs and considers her words for a moment. But just a moment, because in those seconds he thought on it, he thought about why he was so willing to do this in the first place. It's a good reason, one that's a no-brainer when the option was presented before him in gold wrapping and a silver bow on top. 

"I want to," he quietly says. "I need this too."

He can feel her eyes on him, but he makes no move to look back at her. No other words were exchanged between the two, so he keeps his gaze outside to the passing trees and houses. The party was in town at some friend's house Jenny knows, and apparently the whole gang would be there. It's in this drive that he makes the decision to not include Gemma on this lie—to make it believable, and to make things more real. Maybe eventually he'll believe this lie, too.

He felt his palms sweat when they pulled up to the house, parked, got out, and when she reached for his hand. He had wiped it off on his jeans before their fingers looped together, and Harry felt his chest deflate. He never would have dreamed his first time holding hands with someone would be because of a fake relationship. Nonetheless, he held her hand and hoped she didn't care about his clammy palm. When they entered the house, he avoided the eyes on them and followed wherever Jenny dragged him. He found himself clustered close to her friends in no time, who sat in the corner of what was the living room.

Matty sat on Barry's lap, Steve had his arms around Gemma's waist, and Cleo and Zayn were passing a blunt between one another. Gemma's eyes widened at the scene in front of her: Jenny lovingly leaning her head on Harry's shoulder with their fingers threaded together.

"What the fuck!" She practically shouts, untangling herself away from Steve's hands. Her eye remained wide as she approached them, gesturing between the two manically. "What the fuck!"

Harry swallowed, felt this throat tighten, and he's sure his hand would be shaking if Jenny's hand wasn't in it. "I—uh," he starts, voice soft and nervous.

Jenny smiles sweetly. "Gemma, please—this is new. I like him. Trust me, please? I won't do him wrong, babe, I swear."

Her angry eyes stare Jenny down, then stare Harry down. "So all the times she's been over, were you making out with her? God, Harry! Disgusting! She's my best friend!"

Harry forces a smile and shrugs his shoulders. "This is strange for me, too. I'm not used to this." He can't look her in the eye, so he stares at her brows. His stomach twists from lying, and he feels horrible for doing this to his own sister, but he reminds himself that it's for the best. It has to be.

———

"Gotta tell ya, mate," Matty says, inhaling from his rolled-up blunt, "I'm surprised. Thought you had a crush on me." His lower lip juts out, and if it wasn't for the laughter that followed, Harry would've thought he was being serious.

He laughs lightly and allows his eyes to wander across the room to where Jenny was. She was getting drinks with Gemma, so Harry made himself comfortable in the chair opposite of Matty and Barry on the sofa. 

"I know. It came out of nowhere," he says, eyes shooting down to the floor and to his boots. Suddenly a hand was in his direct line of vision, with a lit joint between fingers. He looks up with his brows furrowed.

"Looks like you could use this," Matty says with a slight shrug.

Harry chews at his lip, considering letting the drug ease his nerves and mind altogether. It didn't take much thought. He hadn't smoked in a while—months, even—so he thinks having a drag here and there of it won't hurt him. Even if he hated the taste.

He nods swiftly, takes the shortening joint between his fingers, and presses the paper to his parted lips. He inhales deeply with his eyes closed, and tries to hold the smoke deep in his lungs before blowing it out with a light cough. He laughs it off shyly, before repeating his actions and then returning it to its rightful owner.

"How's the practice coming along?" Zayn asks, who's leaning against the wall with red eyes and a tired look on his face. 

Harry clears his throat and wonders where Jenny is with that drink. He wants the taste of the damn grass out of his mouth. "It's good," he says, sniffling, "My fingertips need to stop being little bitches, though."

The corner of Zayn's plump lips quirk up, then twitch back into a firm line. "Yeah. That'll pass. Should be getting easier if you're practicing everyday."

Harry nods. Somehow the joint was back in his fingers, and he absently took a few more hits of it before passing it back around. The tension already left his shoulders and a peaceful feeling washed over him. He sighs contentedly and leans back in his chair, feeling his heartbeat in his chest, and entering that stage of feeling so light and so wonderful. It's a relief to have the weight of the world that's been holding him down be momentarily lifted. 

"I think...um..." He says, losing his train of thought. He finishes the sentence with a giggle and jumps when he feels arms wrap around his shoulders.

"This is for you," Jenny says into his ear. It's softly said, but her hot breath tickles his ear and shoots a tingle down his back. A cold beer is pressed to his chest.

He takes it happily and shoots her a lazy grin. "Thanks."

"Looks like you're having fun without me," she giggles out. She moves to sit on the floor in front of him, so Harry spreads his legs without hesitation.

Gemma is in Steve's lap with a cup pressed to her lips, and Harry knows she's watching him. He can't be bothered to look back at her and acknowledge the anger in her eyes—he doesn't want anything to ruin this peaceful feeling. 

Light conversation is passed around with joints over the span of ten minutes. Harry hadn't really drank from his beer (he's never been a big beer guy), but he knows he's as high as a bloody kite with all the deep drags he's taken from the grass that's been floating around between all of them. He's glad they're all equally as high, or drunk, so no judgement is passed on him for his choices. Not that they would judge him for partaking in this. 

He's a giggly mess, laughing at things that aren't funny at all, and clutching his stomach from the jokes that are told. He's snorting and his dimples hurt, and he feels so elated it's unreal. He thinks about doing this more often, but his dried-out mouth and the taste on his tongue remind him why he doesn't like it. 

"Fuckin' hell," he mutters to himself. He feels his head roll back and he shuts his eyes. It feels like every time his heart beats, he feels the pound throughout his entire body. He wonders if he's always this alive. Like, fuck, he knows he's alive, but right now he feels...so much more alive. He giggles at his own thoughts, finding amusement in his lack of intelligent words. 

"All right?" someone asks beside him. It's Zayn, who's pulled up a seat, and looking at him with a tilted head and amused eyes. 

Harry nods, smiling crookedly and widely. "I'm perfect, mate," he softly says.

Zayn's caramel-swirled eyes shoot behind Harry's head, and a genuine smile breaks over his face. Harry feels blinded by the bright smile he's never seen Zayn wear and can't look away. "Mate! Glad you could make it!"

Harry gets curious and turns his head, trying to find who Zayn was sending such a bright smile to, and he instantly straightens in his chair. His fuzzy, worry-free mind sends signals down to his lips to display a wide smile. Shaggy hair and a sweater-clad boy makes his way over, eyes that were on Zayn now on Harry. He nearly knocks Jenny down with his knee when he moves to stand and envelope Louis in an embrace. He digs his nose in Louis' neck, sniffs, and giggles against his tan, warm skin.

Louis' arms come around and pat Harry's back lightly, not matching the strong embrace he's giving, so Harry pulls away at that. He ignores the lingering eyes on him, clears his throat, and sits back down in his seat. Jenny resumes her position between his legs on the floor, and Zayn introduces Louis to everyone.

He swears he sees Matty smile at him and lean down to whisper something in Barry's ear, but Harry's just being paranoid.

"Louis," Gemma says, a funny look washing over her face. "I'm sorry if I scared you with my dramatic declaration when you were over for dinner last month."

Louis laughs with ease, waves the air, and sticks his hands in his pockets. "No worries." He makes small talk with the surrounding people, introducing himself, and taking the drink Zayn offers.

He looks wonderful with his brown sweater and bluejeans. His hair looks freshly washed and feathery soft, and with a pint in his hand and the other in his pocket, he looks as if he's posing for a photoshoot. No one usually looks like that whilst having a pint—no one should look so stunning doing something so average. Harry watches Zayn and Louis interact, laughing at inside jokes and leaning close together to have conversation. Harry feels that feeling return in the pit of his stomach—the one he experienced when Zayn emerged from Louis' home. And he's well aware he's staring, but he can't look away. Not when Jenny stands up and asks to dance, and not when he's dragged to the sea of sweaty bodies on the makeshift dance floor.

Eventually he realizes that he's supposed to be faking interest in Jenny, and painfully tears his eyes away from the boys which were standing a bit too close together. His fingers dig into Jenny's hips, fingertips padding over the silky dress as Jenny dances with him. His eyes close as he tries to focus on the rhythm of the music, thoughts of Louis and Zayn disappearing from his mind easily due to the drug coursing through his body.

———

"It's hot," Harry whines. He's sitting back in the chair in the corner and ignoring Matty and Barry who were making out loudly. He wipes at his forehead and tugs at his colorful sweater vest, eyes quickly glancing over to Louis who was still sipping on his pint.

"Wanna go outside for some fresh air? It's a bit too cloudy in here for my taste," Louis suggests, eyes boring into Harry's.

Harry nods a bit quickly and stands. Louis finishes off his drink and lets out a content sigh before placing it on the coffee table in front of him. Louis leads the way, but before Harry can follow, a joint was stuck out for him. His eyes slowly trailed to the hand it belonged to and found Zayn's lazy features looking back at his. Harry quickly takes it, inhales, holds it, and then coughs smoke back up. He hands it back with a thankful look and hurried to catch up with Louis in the swarm of people. 

As soon as he stepped outside he released a happy sigh. He almost trips down the steps that lead to a small pathway, but Louis' firm gaze somehow steadies him. He can't help but giggle.

"I'm gonna sit in the grass," he says, as if he needed Louis' approval.

"You'll get stains on your sweater," Louis notes to him, but Harry shrugs.

"I wanna feel the damp grass through my clothes because I'm so fuckin' sweaty, Louis," he slightly argues, voice teetering towards the whiny scale. He plops harshly down into the grass with a thud and lays back, the cold grass tickling his hair and damp blades seeping through his sweater vest to cool his back. He stares up at the stars, and then tilts his head to find Louis with a small smile on his lips. He snaps his fingers. "Come."

Louis' brows raise. "I'm not laying in the grass, Harry."

He snaps his fingers again, mind hazy, and body cooling down from the cold weather. "Come on," he says, patting at the grass beside him. Louis doesn't move, so he rolls his eyes and mutters a "whatever," before shutting his eyes altogether. "Loser."

"I'm a loser, huh? Because I don't want to stain me jeans and catch a cold from the damp grass?" Harry doesn't open his eyes. "You're bloody ridiculous, mate," he huffs out. He swears he hears shuffling and Louis groans. "It's fucking wet, Harry! But here I am," he mutters to himself, "allowing a high-ass teenager to tell me what to do."

Harry opens one eye and turns his head, unable to keep the smile off his face when he sees Louis sitting in the grass, and then moving to lay completely down.

"Isn't that nice?" Harry asks, giggling his words, body slightly turning to face Louis. "Now look up. The stars are telling a story."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Just took a fucking shower and now I'm laying on the filthy ground, all for someone who's high as a kite and claims the stars are telling stories! Right, haven't lost me mind at all!"

Harry laughs, eyes closing, nose wrinkling, and his side pinching. It's a loud cackle. He didn't expect Louis' thick northern accent to come out so suddenly. He's aware his state of mind is a little clouded, but smoking only takes his nerves away and replaces it with a peaceful feeling. He's still himself—just a less-anxious version.

"You're dramatic," he says with a giggle on the end. Louis' mouth twitches humorously and he settles his fluffy hair fully into the grass, eyes peering up at the dark sky above them.

"Absolutely," he mutters. "So, what story are we looking at here?"

He forces his eyes away from Louis' baby-smooth face and flicks his eyes up. Each star is out clearly, the moon half-sized and hanging off to the side. "Wait," Harry says, eyes quickly bouncing from twinkling star to twinkling star. And they wait. Louis doesn't say a word, and Harry feels his hand twitch at his side, right hand digging into the grass. He swears he feels his pinky bump into Louis' hand, but he pulls it away so quickly that he wasn't sure.

"There!" Harry says, pointing up at the falling star that streaks the sky for only a second. He tilts his face to Louis, who's still looking up. "The stars are crying," he quietly says, "some people look at twinkling stars happily, but they don't know that they're twinkling because they're crying." He gulps, pinky twitching when it accidentally grazes Louis' pinky again. Neither of them move their fingers away. "They lost another one of their friends just then. And we only see it when it's dark, but it happens during the daytime, too. They're sad they only thrive in the dark." Louis moves his head, brows tightly drawn in to stare directly into Harry's eyes. Harry can't look away, and he can't move his pinky away from Louis'. "They're crying because they have to hide in the light."

———

"I'm fucked up," Jenny groans out, body slouching against Harry's. He wraps an arm around her and holds her steady.

He'd been inside for maybe thirty minutes to resume the show they're putting on. So far it seemed to be working, according to Jenny. She said she hasn't had one guy touch her inappropriately or make crude comments. It's amazing how fast people talk and spread things around—just them showing up together let everyone know she was "taken." Harry tries to not feel disgusted by this; it's awful this is what it takes for a girl to have a fun night out.

He moves Jenny to the couch that's still taken by Matty and Barry. He's coming down from the high he was experiencing, the elated feeling dissolving. "Let me get you some water," he says to her. He wasn't sure what she'd been drinking, but whatever it was got her really messed up.

He made his way into the kitchen, shouldering people out of his way when they refused to move. He found a plastic unused cup by the sink and filled it up with tap water, trying to keep the cup steady when he made his way back to Jenny on the sofa. Her slouched, drunken state only made him glad he only drank half a beer. He didn't mind tending to her and keeping her away from prying hands.

"Here," he says as he sits beside her. He tilts her head up to the drink, and her sleepy eyes blink open, mouth parting to accept the liquid down her throat. When she's finished, he sets it on the table beside him. "Want me to take you home?"

She laughs, throws an arm up, and shakes her head. "Hell no! Just now having fun, Harry!"

He slightly laughs and rolls his eyes. "Fine, but if you pass out, you're gonna have to sleep on my couch." He drops his voice so Matty and Barry won't hear. "I don't know where you live."

She grins sloppily and turns to press her body against Harry, hand coming up to pat his cheek. "My plan all along. You taking me to yours for the night," she cheekily says.

"You are pissed," he grins out fondly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders protectively.

"You both are bloody cute," Matty remarks, lower lip pouting out. "We aren't that cute," he says to Barry.

Barry rolls his eyes and tucks a strand of Matty's hair behind his ear. "You're cute when I—"

Barry whispers the rest in Matty's ear, and by the reaction he gave, Harry's glad he couldn't hear what was being said. Jenny's head falls onto his chest and her rand rubs over his sweater soothingly. Harry knows she's bound to pass out any minute.

"So," a quiet voice says, "how did you guys end up together?"

Harry's eyes flick over to Louis' who's sitting in a drawn up chair with another pint in his hand. His mind drifts and thinks about how Louis would be if he was drunk—how he would act. Would he be social? Extremely goofy and loud? Or quiet and to himself? Harry has a feeling he's not the type to drink much around people he doesn't really know—he sees him being responsible and vulnerable like that only to close friends. He wonders if he'll ever see him getting drunk and having fun.

His mind suddenly snaps back to the topic at hand, and he finds himself struggling for the right words. If Jenny was a bit more sober, she would be able to come up with a decent lie. Not Harry. But now he's cornered, and eyes are on him. Suddenly Gemma is sitting with Steve, Cleo and Lea are sharing a small loveseat, and Zayn stares from his spot on the wall with hooded eyes.

"Uh, well, um..." He shakily starts. He clears his throat. "Um, after that party at Niall's we just—we just clicked, you know? Hung out a lot afterwards and she's—" He swallows thickly, "She's beautiful. And incredibly smart, kind, caring..." And it was the truth. They did click as friends, and she's beautiful and smart and kind. Harry found himself slipping the truth into his words so that he wouldn't have to lie. The situation is already a huge tale, so being honest about his friendship could work in his favor. Yet, he still rubbed the tip of his nose worriedly. He hoped Gemma didn't catch it.

"That's nice," Louis says, voice firm. He gulps down his pint. "Told ya."

Harry's brows scrunch together. "Huh?"

His mouth quirks into a smirk. "That she liked you! And I guess you took my advice and went for it." 

Harry winces at the way he says it. It's like he spat it out bitterly, but by the look at everyone's faces, no one else seemed to notice. He must have made that up, then. "I guess, yeah," he agrees half-heartedly.

"Take me to the dance floor," Jenny mumbles into his chest.

Harry purses his lips. "You can barely walk, Jen."

"She refuses to leave a party without nearly blacking out," Lea says from her cuddly spot with Cleo. 

He chews on the inside of his cheek worriedly. 

"That's our Jenny!" Gemma says, a smile breaking out into a laugh. 

Harry's worried thoughts become drowned out with the conversation that's started about someone he doesn't know. He's sure Jenny was asleep, because she'd stopped rubbing his chest and her body was scarily still. He moved to check if his suspicions were true, but she groaned unhappily and forced him to stay put. So he settles back into the couch as comfortably as he can and keeps his arm securely around her. Zayn had moved to sit beside Louis, the pair whispering to each other with smiles on their lips and quiet jokes passing. Harry watched with a blank stare and tried to focus on their words, but they were talking too quietly and the music was drowning out their voices. This is the one time Harry isn't pleased with the music blasting throughout the house.

"How do you two..." Harry stops himself, chews at the corner of his lip, and shakes his head. They didn't hear him, and he doesn't feel like ruining their little bubble. "Jenny," he says instead, giving her a light shake. "Let me take you home."

A groan escapes her lips, but no words follow. And that's all Harry needs. He removes himself from her and stands, car keys already in his pocket from her asking to keep them safe earlier in the night. 

"I'm taking her home," he announces, already bending down to hoist her up. She stands and immediately slouches, so he tucks an arm behind her back and one underneath her knees, sweeping her up into his arms. She's smaller than he thought she'd be.

"I'll walk you out," Louis says, standing with a stretch.

Harry nods and heads for the door. Louis moves in front of him and helps move people out of the way for Harry to walk through with ease, which he was highly grateful for. Harry took lead outside to find her car, and when they approach it, he pauses and blinks back to Louis. 

"Um, it's—it's locked," he stutters out, eyes flickering over Louis' face. He glances down to Jenny, a peaceful look washing over her sleeping features, golden skin sparkling under the moonlight. "Back pocket," he mutters quietly, turning.

"Uh," Louis starts, then he clears his throat. "Right."

Harry inhales deeply and holds his breath for a moment. Louis' breathing is soft, and he can hear it better when he steps closer. It's a soft touch when it happens, and Harry doesn't know how to feel. He gulps loudly, Adam's apple bobbing, and hands beginning to shake. He'll blame the weight in his hands for that one, and not for the barely there touch he receives from a hand digging into his right back pocket.

"Um." Harry clears his throat. "Other pocket." He thinks his face his on fire.

"Right," Louis whispers again.

It's much quicker this time. He feels the hand reach into his back pocket, grab the keys, and immediately pull them out. Harry moves aside so Louis can unlock the back door for him, and no words are exchanged as he opens the door, and as Harry tries to gently lay Jenny down in the backseat of the vehicle. He stands when he's successful with his actions and shuts the door as quietly as possible. 

He straightens and turns to face Louis, face still hot, but a smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks."

Louis nods and crosses his arms, hot breath clouding the air between them in the cold weather. "Yeah. Travel safe, Harry."

Harry blinks quickly and sighs. "Louis," he says, voice urgent, but his eyes on the ground. He frowns to himself and glances back to the window and to Jenny, who's still sleeping. 

"Yes?"

He chews harshly on his lower lip and forces his eyes up to Louis', and fuck it all to hell. Sure, he had the sun's smile, but his eyes and the ocean that swam through them was a poetry book waiting to be written about. 

"I—um—just—uh, thanks. Again." He nods, smiles, and quickly moves away from Louis' eyesight to round the car. He unlocks the drivers door and slides in quickly, forcing himself to not give Louis another look as he starts the car and drives away. 

And his chest aches. 

It aches for something he knows he can't have, but he reluctantly welcomes the feeling. It's a feeling he needs to get used to, so that one day, it will hopefully be just a dull pang in his chest that he can easily brush off.


	17. 16.

Monday approached and Harry was determined. He was motivated, even, to help find Louis the best of the best to decorate his house with. Louis, of course, dreaded the mere thought of having to spend an evening in the cold bouncing from shop to shop, but Harry was excited. And, again, extremely determined. He was going to try and make it fun for Louis, and hopefully spark some excitement within him as well if they discover a theme of sorts to go with.

Harry won't admit that he was reading through his mum's magazine's about what was "in" lately to educate himself on the things Louis was sure to need. He wanted to be smart about this, so he did his research. And maybe he pestered Louis a bit too much, because after the fourth time ringing him in the same day, Louis stopped picking up his calls. It was rude, is what it was. Even if Harry was asking too many questions. He just wanted to do right by him.

"At least look like you're happy to see me," Harry sourly says when Louis emerges from his car. Harry had walked to the square. It was only a block from the school, and he'd rather not wait around and waste anymore time.

Louis plasters a very wide—very fake—grin on his mouth and wipes it away only seconds later. "Let's get this over with, yeah? I hate shopping."

"But this will be fun!" Harry enthusiastically says. "Trust me."

Louis grumbled unhappily (like a grandpa) and stuffs a hand in his pocket. Harry doesn't move a muscle; he stands in his spot, as if waiting for a confirmation to go forward with their evening. Louis looks at him, rolls his eyes, and flicks his head toward a shop.

"After you?"

Harry smiles, nods once, and makes his way to the first shop on his agenda. It was a small furniture store, and he thinks he could find Louis some nice end tables for his living room. If he wasn't into the idea, though, he wouldn't worry about them. He also wasn't sure of Louis' budget, and if he was willing to splurge or not. Harry had inspected things out of curiosity and had taken note of the price they held before dragging Louis around. Like he said, he did his research.

"Harry!" An older lady says, arms stretched out to take hold of his shoulders. He embarrassingly smiles when matured lips press to his cheeks.

"Hi, Mrs. Deaton," he mumbles. He wipes his cheek when she pulls away, her bright eyes sparkling at him. 

Damn these small towns. He's barely spoken to Mrs. Deaton in his eighteen years of living, yet here she is, planting a big one on his cheek in front of Louis. He turns with heated cheeks and finds Louis absolutely beaming at him. He shakes his head with an unamused look on his face.

"What brings you here, love? Oh, and how's your dear mother? Absolutely tragic thing that's happened. You know, I told her about Del when she got with him. I told her he was too smug of a man! He was a handsome lad, he was! But a man as handsome as he is sure to have a twisted heart. I've always said go for the ugly ones, you know. They've got the pure hearts. Oh, but you, Harry! You're even more handsome than your father was! But your heart is just so pure and kind! So don't listen to any of this rubbish I'm talking about, I suppose. Just an old lass with her cats nowadays—Oh, who's this! You're Louis, aren't you?"

Harry blinks twice and tries to process her rambles, but only focuses on the end of it. Louis looks shocked and confused, but Harry happily pats his shoulder. "Yes, this is Louis Tomlinson! He's fairly new to town still. I'm helping decorate his home."

"How lovely! See, that pure heart!" Her gray hair curls around her wrinkly face, glasses slipping down her nose, and her dress which is layered with crocheted cardigans sways around her. "I've got anything and everything, Louis. You look like a man with taste, and that's what you'll find here. Have a look around and let me know if you see anything you like." She grins widely and reaches out to pinch Louis' cheek. "You are just as handsome as they come! Those blue eyes!"

Harry grins happily at Louis' upset face with having his cheek pinched. He reaches out to grab Louis' elbow and tugs him away from the aged eyes searching Louis all over. Mrs. Deaton appears to have a crush on his friend. A laugh that forms in his belly, tickles its way up his throat and out of his mouth, and by the time he's ducked behind a china cabinet that separates different colored couches, he can't keep in the giggles. 

"Those eyes," he repeats, fanning himself as if he was hot by the mere mention of Louis' eyes. Louis reaches out and pinches his side, which has Harry cackling and swatting his hand away. 

"I will walk out of here right now!" he firmly says through his teeth. Red makes starts to flare out around his neck, and Harry reaches out to poke at it.

"Someone's embarrassed." He bites away a smile. 

Louis grabs Harry's wrist and stares directly into his eyes, his grip strong as he slowly directs his finger down. 

"If you want to keep that finger," he says, a spark of amusement in his eyes, "I suggest you keep that hand to yourself."

"You're snappy," he says through a smile. Louis releases his hand and Harry's fingers absentmindedly go to rub over the spot that was grabbed. It felt like it was tingling; it wasn't that Louis had grabbed him tightly, it was just the feeling his touch left on his skin. Always.

"Just show me what my house needs," he says with a huff. He raises his hand and ruffles it through his hair, but it still leaves it sitting perfectly mussed up. If that's even possible. 

"Color!" Exaggeration drips from his voice. Louis gives him a look, but Harry only smiles and steps aside from him and to another section of the store. 

Each piece of furniture was styled and sectioned off as if you were stepping into a different living room. A different theme every corner you turned, and a different piece of decor that never matched the rest. He tried to remember a certain spot that reminded him of Louis, which was the part of the shop that held hardly any color at all. It almost hurt Harry's soul.

"You said your favorite color's blue," Harry says, although he's not asking. He remembers Louis telling him so.

"I—yeah," he mutters softly. Harry sees him scratch a spot behind his neck. "It's a nice a color, I think."

"It is," he quietly agrees. He approaches a section filled with blues: a blue lava lamp on a brown nightstand, a light blue couch, blue album covers, et cetera. Harry toes at the blue rug and turns to look at Louis. "See anything you like?"

Louis sniffs and looks around the blue-themed section, face expressionless as he takes in the decor pieces littering about. Finally he turns to Harry and a shrug moves its way through his shoulders. "I don't know what I like, Harry."

Harry bites his lower lip and tears his eyes away to look at his surroundings. "I like this," he says, gesturing to the wall with gold picture frames hanging up. One is decorated with golden leaves around the frame, giving it an ethereal—yet elegant—look. 

"That's not even blue," Louis laughs out.

Harry gives him a look. "I know, but it's nice. Not too expensive. Could frame some of your photographs, no?"

Louis shrugs his shoulders again. "I don't know. I guess."

Harry rolls his eyes and starts to walk past him to another section of the store. "Is it too gold for you? Don't like the sweet features it has to offer?"

He stops when he spots the section with muted tones and steps into the new theme of decor, Louis trailing right behind him.

"No," he replies, "that's not it."

Harry turns and is slightly taken aback by how close Louis is to him. "Then...then what is it? I'm kind of lost here. If you don't tell me what you want, everything will be yellow."

The corner of Louis' mouth raises, and as the seconds tick by, a smile continues to spread over his face. "That'd be horrible."

Harry scoffs. "It'd be beautiful."

"I swear, if you're taking me to look at paint swatches next, I'll have your head." He waves a finger towards Harry and then shuffles past him to look at the next stop made in the shop. "I'm not buying a purple lamp."

Harry groans exaggeratedly and shakes his head. "Just let me do your shopping! You're getting in the way of the vision I have for you!"

Louis throws his head back with laughter, fingers grasping a decor couch pillow, as his body shakes with laughter. "What bloody vision!" he cackles.

Harry frowns and crosses his arms instantly. "It was nice. I did research, Lou. Gathered things from what I knew about you."

"Did you have a fuckin' scrapbook piece about it?" Louis asks, body still shaking with laughter. He wipes at his eyes and eases from loud laughter to soft giggles, until he's just smiling widely. "Lou. How about that. I finally have a nickname."

Harry tries to bite away his smile so that the annoyed look on his face wouldn't vanish. "Right. Well. Guess I'll be on my way, then, Old Louis. Nice chatting with you." He turns on his heel and starts to weave his way through the maze of furniture he came from.

"Harry," a voice not too far behind him says. "Harry Styles!"

Fingers grasp the hem of his sweater and he nearly falls back on the spot. He stumbles, but firm arms reach the bottoms of his own to keep him steady. Louis' front is pressed to Harry's back, fingers wrapped around his wrists. 

"And you say I'm dramatic," he gently whispers into his ear.

Harry stammers pointless words, and is slow to stand fully on his own. He pulls his sweater down, which was rising up from being grabbed, and turns to face Louis fully. "Are you done being a prick?"

Louis feigns hurt and places his hand over his chest. "Me? A prick? Do you kiss your mother with that foul mouth?"

Harry's face heats up instantly, but he manages a decent eye roll. "Fuck off. I'll send my scrapbook pages and you can do this shit yourself."

"Harry, I'm joking," Louis lightly laughs out. He reaches over and grasps his sweater to keep Harry from walking away. "It's sweet you invested so much into this for me. Thank you. I'm just...I find it silly." Louis' hand is away to pull his long-sleeved shirt over his hands nervously.

Harry watches the way his shirt covers his hands and remembers that's his nervous tick. Harry's face softens. "Why?"

Louis' eyes harden, but his face remains soft. Young. "It's—no reason. I just do. I'll stop now. Let's see what you think would look good, all right?"

Harry nods. They spend the rest of the time exploring the store from Harry's memory; he tried to remember what reminded him of Louis when he explored the shops the other day, and out of everything he found, Louis only agreed on a few things: Books, a blue ashtray, and a small, ceramic statue of a naked man. It wasn't what Harry picked out, but Louis had laughed at it like an amused teenager and said, "the small penis!" and that was that.

Mrs. Deaton wrapped Louis' things up and bagged them, and then they made their way to the next shop. Harry insisted on looking at frames for Louis' pictures; he wasn't going to put up photographs around his home if Louis didn't capture them. 

"You need wallpaper," Harry mumbles to himself. He's got his arms wrapped around his body to try and stay warm as they walk past stores on the strip. "Some type of color or pattern."

Louis groans at his side. "I like the white."

"It's too bright," he says with a sigh. "It looks like you haven't even moved in, either. Like you'll be able to vanish whenever you want."

Louis doesn't say anything and Harry thinks he hit a nerve by saying that. He chews on his lip and pinched his brows together, wondering if that's why Louis hadn't decorated. If something went wrong in this town, he could easily pack up and leave. But why? Why would he want to live like that? The temptation to ask why he moved here in the first place scratches at a spot he can't reach to, and he shivers uncomfortably. He wants to know more about Louis—so much so that he thinks he could go crazy. Surely they've become close enough to talk about these things. He's had his mouth on Louis' before even knowing his middle name (which is William. How posh).

And it starts. He's thought of Louis' lips, and now he spends most of the walk stealing quick glances to Louis' red lips. Moisturized by his tongue, Harry finds his mouth drying when Louis takes the corner of his lower lip between his teeth absentmindedly. He internally groans and wonders if Louis ever thinks back to their kiss like he does all the time. But surely not—he wouldn't. He's not that way. He only kissed Harry back to be nice—he only dug his fingertips into his hipbones to be...sweet. 

"Oh," Harry says as he nearly trips over a woman's dog. He profusely apologizes and then peeks up to see where they've walked. "Oh, right here, Lou." Guess the nickname stuck.

He pushes open the door to the next store on the agenda. It's a cozy shop filled with a little bit of everything: records, more books, house decor, and bedroom bits and bobs. He holds the door for Louis, and then walks in after him. His eyes shoot downward unintentionally. Louis' sporting brown slacks with a simple blue, long-sleeved shirt tucked into it. The neckline is slightly raised, but it isn't a full turtleneck, and he honestly looks hot. Only in a way Harry himself wishes to look. But his bum looks really nice in the trousers he's wearing, and he may have collided into Louis' backside by the distraction of it.

"All right?" he questions, instantly turning around.

Harry thinks he's going to pass out from embarrassment. His face his heating up profusely and he clears his throat with a forced smile. "Yeah, yeah, perfect. I'm great. Um. This way?" he juts his thumb out to the right.

Louis inspects him, hand trailing up to place the back of his hand against Harry's hot face. "You're red. Are you getting windburn or summat?"

Harry almost chokes on his own saliva and stumbles back. He laughs with a shake of his head. "Maybe!" He turns quickly and moves in the direction he suggested going in, eyes focusing on anything to change the subject to. "Oh, look! More books!"

———

"Take me to yours."

"Whoa, buy me a drink first," Louis retorts with a loud laugh.

Harry blushes, of course, and he shakes his head a bit to quickly. "Louis—that's—not what I—what I meant. Like, I mean—"

"I know, Harry. I'm just yanking your chain." The bags in Louis' hand sway and hit, so Harry instinctively reached out to grab some of the bags. "Why are you wanting to come to mine?"

Harry doesn't look at Louis, and instead settles his gaze on the bags in his own hands. "To help decorate. I'm definitely not leaving that part to you."

Louis cackles. "Cheers, mate, thanks for the encouragement."

Harry smiles softly. "Let's go. I'm cold."

Louis leads the way this time, Harry following right behind, as they make way for his vehicle. Once they reach it, Louis unlocks the back door and starts tossing the bags inside. Harry grumbles unhappily, but otherwise keeps his mouth shut. When everything is situated, they both make themselves comfortable in the car before Louis speeds off.

Harry had shown Louis shop after shop throughout the evening until dark approached, and it was somewhat a success. Louis didn't want most of the things Harry suggested (the stylish things, he should say), but he thinks he can work with what they got. He's not done, by any means, but it's a start. And Louis may have gotten Harry a few things, with his strong disapproval. He didn't need anything, but Louis persisted when Harry had stared at albums he'd yet to purchase for himself. It was too much on top of all the things he'd just bought for his house, and Harry's still considering going back to the store to return them and give Louis his money back.

"I'm starving," Louis grumbles once they enter his home. The bags are placed softly (by Harry) down on the couch after arriving, and Louis rubs his stomach like a hungry child.

Harry sniffles and rubs the tip of his cold nose. "Me too."

Louis' eyes find Harry's and a sincere look washes over his features. "Let me cook you something as a—as a thank you. For the help."

Harry tries to hide his smile—he really does—but his pursed lips spread slowly into a wide, lopsided grin without difficulty. "Okay."

Louis nods once and turns to make his way into the kitchen. Harry continues smiling like a madman and diverts his attention to the bags strewn about on the couch. He tries to focus on removing the objects from the bags, but a loud noise echoes its way from the kitchen and into the living room that jumps his mind far away from the task at hand, and now to if Louis' okay. So he drops the books in his hands and makes for the kitchen, where he finds Louis crouched down with a pan in his hand.

"Dropped it," he says upon Harry's arrival. He stands, puts the pan on the oven, and reaches for a box on the counter. He reads over the back of it and Harry nearly laughs.

"Are you planning on putting dried pasta in a hot pan?" he asks, giggles escaping his lips unintentionally. 

Louis glares at him over his shoulder and sets the box back down. "I only have pasta in the house."

Harry walks over and turns the stovetop off with one quick motion. "Well, it needs to be put in water, firstly." Louis nods and takes the pan to the sink. Harry thinks he could pass out from laughing so hard. "Louis! You need a pot! Haven't you ever cooked before?"

Louis looks as if he's embarrassed when he turns around. "Uh, not really."

Harry's eyes go wide. "What do you eat, then?"

"'Round town. Nice options here. You know, supporting the businesses here."

"You're mad!" Harry says with a shake of his head. He starts rummaging around his cabinets to find the proper cookware. "I'm not about to get poisoned, so I think I'll do the cooking."

Louis makes a displeased noise. "You don't need to. I can do it if you just tell me what to do," he says, voice gone soft.

Harry successfully pulls out a pot that looks as if it's never been used. He shakes his head and wonders why he even filled the kitchen with nice things if he never intended on using them, and fills it with water to boil on the stove. Louis doesn't say much as Harry moves around the kitchen looking for the things he'll need to use for the meal. He gladly takes over, and by the time the water's boiling and he's got the pasta in it, is when he turns to look over at Louis with curious eyes. He had been quiet the entire time.

"Sorry," he immediately says. "I quite like cooking."

"It's all right," Louis says with a shrug. He hops on his large counter and swings his legs. "I was trying to be nice, though. You just had to jump in and take over." He laughs and flicks his hair out of his eyes with a shake of his head. "Bet your girlfriend likes that about you. The whole cooking thing."

Harry furrows his brows. "Girlfriend?" he mutters to himself, realization settling in his mind only seconds later. He clears his throat and sticks a wooden spoon in the pot to stir around. "Yeah, yeah. Totally."

"Forget you have a girl already? Usually you have to be married to reach that stage!" Louis snorts out.

Harry frowns with a shake of his head; that comment shouldn't have offended him. It's not like the relationship is real. "Of course not," he whispers, "I'm not my dad."

Louis immediately ceased his laughter. "Shit, Harry, that's not what I meant," he sincerely says. "I was only joking. It was a stupid joke anyway. I shouldn't have said that."

Harry nods and keeps his head down. "Right, yeah, I know. I know. It's fine. Um," he slowly speaks, head still down, and hand still stirring the pot. 

"So, you and Jenny getting on good?" he casually asks, feet resuming their swaying.

Harry looks up at that and takes his hand away from the pot to give Louis his full attention. "Yeah, it's good. She's nice. Easy to talk to. She's a genius, you know. She just doesn't show it around her mates. She likes a good party, is all," he speaks, as if trying to prove to Louis that she was more than what he's seen from her partying actions.

Louis nods. "Yeah, I'm sure! She seems lovely. I'm glad you have someone after all that talk about you being a loner."

Harry swallows thickly and nods at his words. The irony of it all. His fake relationship still makes him a loner, but it's only hidden from everyone's eyes. Maybe that's a good thing, though, because being an almost nineteen-year-old without ever being in a relationship is embarrassing. It's not that people at school ever commented on it (he's still as invisible as ever), it was just his own stupid pride. 

He doesn't say anything to Louis after that, and instead focuses on making the sauce for the pasta. Everything necessary was in the fridge (which was surprising for someone who doesn't cook), so Harry made it his mission to make the best garlic butter sauce he could. 

———

"Well," Louis starts as he dabs a napkin around his mouth, "that was actually delicious."

Harry grins happily and leans back in the chair he's sitting in. Louis' dining table branches off from the kitchen and into a little rounded out section with windows surrounding it. He had a small table with four chairs placed in it, so that's where they were sitting to eat.

"Thank you. Much better than eating out every night, huh?"

Louis nods and stands while taking both of their plates to the sink to wash. Harry turns in his chair to watch him. 

"Yeah, actually. Might need to give me recipes to try out," Louis suggests.

Harry nods and stands, feet making their way closer to Louis. "Absolutely. And if you need bread, you know where to find me! I make it better than my sister, if I do say so myself."

Louis laughs and scrubs at the dishes, so Harry decides to go back into the living room to arrange the decor how he wanted. He sat on the floor and crossed his legs as he splayed everything out around him, trying to find how he wanted to place things before hanging it to the walls. During this process, the phone rang and echoed around the large house. He heard water shut off and feet tap against the floor to the phone; he tried not to eavesdrop as he stared at the frames on the floor.

"Anne!"

Harry's brows instantly raise in interest.

"Yes, love. We've just had dinner. Want me to get him?" There's a pause. "All right. And how's your evening?" Another pause. Then laughter. "You're too funny! And yes, he's been a great help. He's even offered to decorate me whole house! And thank God for that, I didn't want to." More laughter. Harry narrows his eyes at the comment but otherwise tries to focus on the task at hand. "I'll certainly drive him home soon. Yes. All right, now, I'll talk to you soon. Bye, Anne."

Harry clears his throat and picks up a gold-entailed mirror they snagged for a decent price, and pushes it between the gold frames. He sits on his knees and leans back to get a better look at it, and nods slightly in approval when feet approach him from behind.

"Your mum just rang. Wondering when you were coming home," Louis says. He moves to stand beside Harry and tilts his head to the side. "Not bad."

Harry smiles, pleased with himself. "What time is it?"

"Nine-forty-five, I think?" Louis says, voice raising at the end of his sentence.

Harry sighs and stands. "Damn. Jenny wanted me to ring her around ten tonight." He bites his lip and stares down at all the bags littered about. "Can I come tomorrow after classes to finish this? I'll need a hammer and some nails, too. To hang this stuff."

Louis nods and waves a hand with eased shoulders. "Yeah, no problem. I'll have everything ready tomorrow."

Harry grins because he can't stop himself from doing so, and starts to head for the door. "Sounds like a plan," he voices to him. 

"Don't forget your new albums!"

Harry turns and rolls his eyes when Louis rushes over to him with a bag in his hand. He reluctantly takes it with a disapproving look, and follows after Louis when he takes the lead in walking outside.

The cold air makes Harry hug himself to try to warm up, and while he's walking down the steps, a familiar voice calls out from over the hedge.

"Harry! Louis!" Niall says, a smile laced in his words. Harry looks over at him to see that he is, in fact, smiling. "What're you laddies doing and where was my invite?"

"Looks like you were busy," Harry retorts. He points a finger toward the girl that just got in a car and drove off.

Niall shrugs. "Lily was helping with me homework. Amongst other things." A devilish grin makes its way to his face, and a wink flutters his eye in Harry's direction.

"Gross," he mumbles, shivers, and steps closer to Louis' car. "I'll talk to you tomorrow?"

Niall nods. "Yeah, yeah. Hey! Come over tomorrow. I need to stop Louis from taking my best mate away."

Harry looks toward Louis, then back at Niall. "I—I already am doing something... With Louis. I'm helping him hang some things tomorrow. Can we do it the next day?"

"Can I help?" Niall questions, eyes moving to Louis now.

Louis shrugs and smiles softly. "The more the merrier."

Harry feels his chest deflate for some reason. 

"Fuck yeah," Niall says. "See you jerk-offs tomorrow!"

"You can tell him no," Harry says once they're both in his car. "It won't hurt his feelings. He might mess things up tomorrow." And, wow, he didn't mean to sound so rude. 

Louis breathily laughs. "He misses you! I can't say no to Niall. He's got that Irish charm no one can resist. He's your mate, don't you want him helping you? Lord knows I won't be."

Harry scoffs. "Sometimes you're a bit rude, Lou. Just saying."

"Lou," he says with amusement. "Har? No, that just sounds like hair. You need a better nickname."

"I do have a lot of hair, though." Harry runs his fingers through his long hair with a crooked smile on his lips. 

"Please don't make jokes. I might die from how unfunny they are."

Harry's mouth drops and he reaches over to shove his shoulder. "Bloody rude!" He shakes his hand through his hair again and purses his lips in thought. "Thinking about getting it trimmed. What do you think?"

Louis only shrugs, eyes on the road, and a simple look on his face. "Do whatever you want. It would be interesting to see you with short hair, though. Might mature you a bit."

Harry frowns. "I certainly don't want to look aged."

Louis laughs lightly. "Not what I meant. But do what you want. Maybe cut off a few inches to, like, your jaw. Halfway, you know? Not too short, not too long."

Harry nods in thought. "Smart. Glad I asked you. Liam would've said to buzz it or something ridiculous like that."

They both laugh until it fades into quietness. Harry spends the rest of the way looking out the window and wondering if tomorrow with Niall would be absolutely horrible or not. He's different around Louis—different than he is with Liam and Niall. He can't put his finger on why, but he knows keeping the massive secret about their kiss from his mates has made him act differently. He's afraid he'll slip up with Niall there tomorrow. Hell, maybe he should invite Jenny as a way to be on his best faked behavior. He doesn't really know what to think, and it begins to give him a headache. So he lays his forehead against the cool glass and tries to think of anything else.

Twinkling stars shine down on him as trees whiz by from above, and he can't help but think they're mocking him. At least the stars can cry in the company of one another.


	18. 17.

"You have a girlfriend?"

Harry's eyes nearly pop out. Like, really. They're so wide it hurts, so something like that must have happened.

He's studying with his mates outside on their free time; today it wasn't as cold, and surprisingly the sun is out, so they all took off outdoors once the opportunity was given. Harry has his back pressed to a tree and Liam's sitting beside him cross-legged—Niall's laying on his back with a textbook opened and covering his face.

And somehow he forgot to tell his mates about Jenny. And somehow he let it slip. He was only talking about something funny she'd said the other day, and when they asked who she was, well—he had to go on with the lie. He had to. He just hates lying, but now it looks as if he's hiding a huge part of his life from his best mates, and that's definitely not what he wants.

"Thanks for the information," Niall mutters below the pages.

Liam looks hurt, with his brows drawn in and lips pursed. "Why haven't you told us?" he quietly asks.

Harry stammers stupidly and digs his fingers into the grass, searching for yet another lie. Maybe he can paw it out of the dirt that's staining his fingertips. "I—I didn't know if...if anything was serious. Um. We were just talking as friends and I—I don't know. Somehow it escalated. I don't know."

"Romantic," Niall says with a snort.

"And she came to the party?" Liam questions.

Harry nods. "With Gemma. Remember?"

Liam's eyes flick over objects as he racks his brain to try and remember. "The girl who drank us dry? Is that her?"

Harry shrugs and rubs the tip of his nose rather harshly. "Probably. She likes having a good time."

"I'd say. I'm fuckin' Irish and I didn't drink as much as her. Me ancestors were rollin' in their graves," Niall says, accent thicker than normal as if he's trying to prove a point.

"That's 'cause you were trying to get laid, mate, so don't put that on Jenny," Liam counters back with a nudge to the top of Niall's head with his foot.

Niall takes the book off his face and rubs his head with a displeased look. Eventually he sits up. "Well, at least I tried!"

Harry's brows draw in. "What are you talking about?"

Liam huffs. "He's been trying to sleep with Lily but can't exactly... What's the word?"

Harry's eyes widen again. "You can't pop a bon—"

"NO!" Niall shouts out and cuts Harry off. "That is definitely not it! Ireland can perform, believe me!" Harry tries not to laugh at the nickname Niall's given his dick. "It's the Lily part I'm having trouble with. Every time we're about to, she just—I don't know—doesn't want to? She won't tell me." A pained look passes over his face. Then an angry one takes over and he directs it to Liam. "But at least I'm bloody trying. Olivia's been practically begging Liam to have sex with her and he won't. So his whistle must not be blowing properly!"

"Whistle!" Liam barks back. "If anything, it's the whole damn train!"

Harry rolls his eyes. "Stop with the penis talk! Liam, what's wrong with you? And, Niall, maybe she's just not ready yet. Jesus Christ, don't be so thick."

Liam and Niall stare at each other in silence, so Harry goes on to say, "why haven't you told me about this? Was it because I was single?" 

Liam rolls his eyes at that. "Fuck no, Harry. You were the only one that cared about that. And you've become so distant, like—like we barely see you. Barely talk to you. And you've got a secret girlfriend? What the fuck? When did we become so unimportant to you?"

Harry's jaw drops and he feels his heart sink into his stomach. Liam's eyes are hard and his voice is harsh, and no words form as a response. Liam sighs and looks as if he's about to say something else, but closes his mouth and stands instead. He gathers his books and walks away only moments later, and Harry feels hurt and angry and every awful emotion he didn't want to feel.

"He's right, you know," Niall speaks out. His voice is a lot softer than Liam's, and his eyes are... sad. "Feels like you don't want anything to do with us anymore."

Harry thinks he's going to cry because it's not that at all. He doesn't know why they would think that. "But—but I don't understand... What makes you think that? You're my best mates. Of course you're important to me."

Niall huffs unhappily and squints at Harry. "I know you, Harry. I know every tick you have, what the sound of your voice can mean, what outfit you choose to wear says about you, and I—fuck, Harry, you're so fucking chaotic lately. But I've stayed silent. I thought, 'Oh, well, his dad issues,' and I bit me tongue." He scratched his head and laughs without any traces of humor. "You rub your nose when you're hiding something. When you're uncomfortable or nervous, and you've done that this entire time. Every time we talk now. Ever since the fucking dance, I think. You constantly sound like you're struggling to speak when you talk to us. So, yeah, if we're so important, then why can't you talk to us about what the shit-fucking-hell is going on?"

Harry gapes and feels his eyes start to prickle with tears. When he doesn't say anything, Niall only starts to stand.

"And our old friend Harry would never forget to tell us about having a girlfriend. Never."

He walks away after the words leave his lips, and Harry watches him walk away with a hurt look. He frowns deeply and gnaws at his lip to try and pain the tears away, but it only rushes them forward.

———

Harry's been biting his lip so much that it drew blood by the end of his school day. He wishes to go home and try to play on his guitar to release the frustrations holding these secrets give him, but he has plans with Louis. And Niall. He can't blow them off—especially Niall. 

He knows he agreed to doing this with Jenny. He knew going into it that it meant lying to everyone he knows, but it has to be for the better. Jenny can be free with Harry around, and Harry can try to push down those thoughts that have been so prominent in his mind. He just doesn't know if he can keep it up for long.

He arrives at Louis' house minutes after leaving school, and walks inside after being invited in. He doesn't exchange much talk. He saunters to the living room where everything that was purchased the previous day lay untouched; he bites at his lip out of habit and immediately winces. 

"I'm not sure when Niall's coming," he says while shrugging his bag off. His eyes find Louis' and he wants to roll his eyes at the sight of him.

Louis' wearing a gray sweater that's rather large on him, and it looks so incredibly soft that Harry wishes it was his own. His bluejeans are rolled up at the bottoms, and white shoes cover his feet. His hair is straight and ruffled atop his head, and Harry isn't even ashamed of thinking about wanting to cuddle him. His heart hurts, so yeah, he wants a proper cuddle. 

"I saw him this morning. He said maybe around four? At least, I think that's what he said."

Harry nods and sits on the comfortable couch, letting his head fall back with his eyes closed to give himself just a moment to breathe before facing Niall again. It gave him about thirty-five minutes to prepare.

"All right?" Louis questions. He feels the couch dip beside him.

He sighs and doesn't have the strength to look over at him. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired."

Silence drifts between them. The worst kind. The kind where Harry thinks about saying things he shouldn't, where the words are on the tip of his tongue, where every urge to confess everything that's been swimming through his mind just wants to spill out. Because he's tired—that part is true—but he's tired of hiding everything from everyone. He knows he can't talk about it, though, and if he did, that would mean he's actually thinking that way. 

He can't think this way. 

"You don't look fine," Louis quietly says.

Harry frowns. "I am fine. Don't worry about me."

"Okay, snappy-pants, whatever you say."

Harry lifts his head and bites at his wounded lip, eyes narrowed at the decor pieces laying about on the floor. "You don't know me like that anyway. Only my best mates do. Niall does. You can't say I don't look fine when you don't know me like that."

He hears Louis shift beside him. "Okay, what the hell's going on? It doesn't take a genius to see when someone's not doing well. Don't come in here barking at me like that for trying to care."

"Trying," he angrily says. "So, you have to try to care about me?" He doesn't know why he's taking his frustrations out on Louis, but it seemed like a good idea at first. Taking out the confusion and hurt and everything else he's been feeling towards someone was a way to release his emotions without spilling anything. 

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Louis says, lips twitching in frustration. His face looks pinched and slightly agitated, and maybe a little confused. 

"I don't," Harry softly says. He stares directly at Louis, whose soft skin is dotting with redness from the frustrating conversation they're having. "I don't really know you. You're funny and kind, but I don't know you. You say we're mates, but are we really? You can't even tell me about most of yourself. Why all the secrets?" 

Louis looks taken aback by the sudden boldness of Harry's words, and has to take a moment to compose himself. A story Louis wouldn't let Harry read dances through his hardened eyes, and he wants to know everything so badly it hurts. He wants to know him so deeply and it's unfair Louis won't allow him to.

"I should be asking you the same thing," Louis finally says. His voice is firm and solid. It nearly scares Harry by how confidently he spoke.

"I—I don't know what you're talking about," he stutters out, voice shaky and not anything like Louis'. 

"Everyone has secrets, Harry. If you're not comfortable voicing your own, don't force somebody else to. Stop projecting whatever you're feeling onto me. I understand you're eighteen and a lot of things don't make sense, but you're old enough to know making others feel like shit because you do, isn't the way to be. You can either tell me why you're upset, or we can ignore it and pretend like this didn't happen. Your call."

Harry frowns and clenches his hands tightly closed, nails digging into skin sharply. He truthfully doesn't know how to reply. Maybe he can confess something small to Louis, something about himself that's been nagging at him. Maybe about his secret relationship? What would he say to that? He blinks away that thought, because even if he hasn't admitted it to himself (until now), he wanted to be in this fake relationship to hide behind the feelings being around Louis brought on. His sunshine of a smile and the deep, blue waters that are his eyes. He doesn't know if he's going to burn around Louis, or completely drown. Right now it feels like both.

His hands shake.

"You don't know," he starts so quietly. His heart pounds in his chest and his hands have gone white, and he might honestly pass out. "You can't understand." He's definitely going to pass out. This is the closest he's come to telling Louis even an inkling about what runs around in his head.

Louis breathes out through his nose and slightly squints at Harry, eyes bouncing back and forth between Harry's eyes as he stares intently. Harry has to look down, and when he does, he unclenches his hands and tries to wipe the sweat off on his jeans.

"You haven't let me try to understand. Try me, Harry," Louis says. 

His voice is still so fucking steady that Harry could cry; he wants to grasp him and steal some of that confidence and strength when speaking. Unintentionally his fingers wander to the sleeve of Louis' sweater, and before he can even process it, he's tugging at the soft fabric and digging his fingers into it. His heart pounds heavily in his ears and he worries for a moment that Louis can hear it, but slowly, Louis' wrist turns over and his hand unfolds. Soft skin splays out before him, as if inviting Harry's fingers to trace over the lines in his palm and envelope Louis' hand altogether. His left hand releases the sweater in his grasp, forefinger shakily moving up Louis' wrist and to his palm. And Louis doesn't say anything, and his hand is completely steady, and Harry thinks the world around him stops. All that's left is the heat radiating from Louis' body and these touches playing out in slow motion. 

The tips of Harry's fingers trace up Louis' palm, hand still shaking uncontrollably. Before his hand can even try resting flat against his, Louis takes his fingers and meets Harry's halfway up, threading firm ones into shaking ones, and holding tightly to steady out his hand. All Harry can think about was how he was right in thinking that Louis' sun of a smile can warm his soul, but his touch was something else entirely. Like catching a falling star.

But maybe Harry's the falling star. Dying out, crying like the twinkling stars, and begging to be seen before vanishing into the darkness. And it's then he realizes he can't be a star, because the sun is a star. So he settles on being the moon, reflecting the sun's light, drawing from Louis' warmth to keep himself bright in the dark that surrounds him.

And it was a haste knock on the door that separated their hands. 

Harry supposes the moon can't touch the sun for a reason, and he's supposed to keep his distance. He can stay bright in the presence of Louis. Maybe that could be enough.

———

"Tiny penis!" Niall barks out in laughter. He had just spotted the ceramic statue tucked away in wrapping after helping Harry hang things on the walls.

Harry shakes his head with a smile on his face and continues adding books to Louis' built-in shelves beside the television set. He'd placed other knick-knacks on the shelves, like small action figures Louis had collected as a child, some superhero comics and figurines, and other things Louis still had packed away.

Upon Niall's arrival, Louis and Harry had separated and Harry hasn't really tried speaking to him since. Louis would casually make comments about where things were placed, helped Niall hang the large frames with the art pictures framed inside, but otherwise stayed out of the way. The other small frames Harry had Louis buy had other plans for what was to be put inside them, so he has to wait until later for that to take place. 

"I still don't know why you insisted on the lava lamp," Louis grumbles unhappily. He's holding the oddly shaped lamp in his arms and looks disgusted with even touching it.

"Shut up and be grateful. That can go in your room, though. You're welcome!" He happily chirps out. 

Louis huffs. "Why even have me buy it if no one's going to see it?" He plops it on one of the new end-tables that were kindly delivered not too long ago, along with a rug for his living room. "Right there it'll sit. I don't want to hear any complaints." He waves a finger in Harry's direction.

"Whatever," he mumbles. He turns to Niall, who's staring at the ceramic statue on the other end-table by the couch, and laughing to himself. "Niall, want to help me unroll the rug?"

"Yeah," he grins out, wiping tears out of his eyes. "Tiny penis," he says with a shake of his head, smile never leaving his face.

Harry shoves Louis' brown coffee table out of the way, and drops down to the floor where the rolled-up rug lay, which was wrapped in a clear, protective film that he cut off. They both get to work with unrolling the the blue rug with swirls of other blues colliding together. It's shaggy and wonderfully soft, so by the time it's completely rolled out, Harry plops himself down on the rug and stares up at the ceiling above him.

Niall joins him, and for a moment, it's completely quiet. But then Niall turns his head and nudges Harry's foot with his own. "You okay?" he quietly asks. 

Harry's eyes flick to Louis, who's eyeing the lava lamp that's now switched on, and staring at it with a bored look. His eyes shift back to Niall, and he feels himself nod. "Yeah. Why?"

"Just what happened today." Niall shrugs. "Just making sure you're fine. And willing to talk."

Harry's heart pounds heavily again. "I, uh," he stammers out. 

Niall sits up. "Fine," he mutters back. Then he's standing and resuming the work at hand he was tasked with.

Harry shuts his eyes for a moment, inhales deeply, and then sits up to get the photographs for Louis out of his bag.

——— 

Niall and Louis were taking a break in the kitchen, so Harry thought it would be the perfect time to complete Louis' living room. At least, for now. It definitely looked homier and more loved. With the shelves filled, a cozy carpet beside the beige couches, and end-tables to fill awkward spaces, it just seemed welcoming. Inviting. The large floor-to-ceiling windows that lead to the backyard didn't need any fixing, but Harry supposes a plant or two would like nice there, so he takes note of that mentally. The far right wall that leads to the kitchen is filled with painted art pieces they'd successfully found. A large canvas with blue paint was basically the vocal point of it, with wavy lines blending into oranges stood out. Around that sat smaller art pieces with more orange tones, and surprisingly, some yellow. Louis let Harry slip in that.

The wall behind one of Louis' couches is where Harry's at now. He's taking this task very seriously, because Louis could either love it or absolutely hate it. He really hopes he enjoys the effort Harry's trying to make if he hates it, though. And he may have snuck into Louis' darkroom for this and invaded his privacy altogether, but it's worth it in Harry's eyes. Louis' art isn't painting, but capturing the wonderful moments of mundane things. And it makes the small things appear beautiful. A stained paper from a mug, the way the sunshine glistens between leaves—even a carhop with a tray lifted high in the air. 

Arranging the pictures on the wall was a lot harder than it seemed. He had to angle everything perfectly, otherwise it looked sloppy and displeasing to the eye. Frames of different sizes hung up—either diagonally or horizontally—that was up to how the photograph was taken. Harry had some of the photos in his bag from when Louis gave them to him not too long ago, and decided to choose the ones where it wasn't noticeably a picture of himself. Louis basically gave him the entire roll of pictures, so things from the diner that never pertained to him made it on the wall. There was a photo of Harry whizzing around with people at the dance, and all you could see was light flares, a blurred boy, and a blue suit. It was rather artsy, and probably his favorite photo, so he had to hang it on Louis' wall.

The rest of the pictures came from a box in Louis' darkroom. And he knows he's prying, he doesn't need anyone to tell him that, but they're just too nice to not put up for everyone to see. He had grabbed what he could when he was able to sneak away (with the excuse of needing a wee), and didn't have much time to look through every photo. He had them spread out on the floor beside him, quickly put in a frame when one stuck out to him, and would hastily hammer it to the wall. His fingers shuffled the photos, eyes quickly bouncing around to see what he liked, and he found himself pinching his brows together when one popped out beneath another picture.

The only thing he could see was Louis laughing with his head tilted back (it was the first photo he found with him in it), so he reached for it without as much as another thought. Three people came into view: Louis had his arm around someone's shoulders who was leaned forward and laughing along with Louis. This boy was shaggy-haired and young, a beer between his fingers, and his other hand on Louis' chest. They looked to be in a booth at some bar, but Harry couldn't really focus on that, because next to the shaggy-haired boy, was a familiar leather jacket and strong jaw. Harry's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"Zayn?" He whispers to himself, eyes glued to the picture. 

Zayn was smiling happily and looking at the two boys laugh, his side profile making an appearance, and there's no doubt that it's him. Harry knows that side profile. Knows that jawline and hair and jacket. It's Zayn. And Louis. And some other guy he's never seen, but what the fuck? Did they know each other? How did they both end up moving to the same place? How did he—

"Whoa," a voice interrupts his thoughts. 

He quickly pockets the picture and stands, cheeks hot and eyes still wide as he stares back at Louis, who was looking at the wall behind him. 

Harry quickly moves aside.

"Is that okay? I—uh—um—"

"Mate, that's awesome," Louis softly speaks. He approaches the wall and Harry takes another step away. "You went snooping around, didn't you? I never gave you those," he says as he gestures between pictures. "Fuckin' groovy—and I hate that word."

Harry feels a smile grace his lips. "You can add what you want to it. I just want your art to be put on display, you know? It deserved to be out and admired," he simply says. He crosses his arms and tries not to panic. Suddenly the item in his pocket seemed very heavy and there. 

"Thanks, Harry," he genuinely says, eyes bright along with his sunshine-y smile.

Harry felt a little blinded.

"I'll get out of your hair, now," he softly says. He bends down and gathers the rest of Louis' photos and quickly gives them back to its owner. "Mum's probably wanting me home for supper, so I should head out." His words are strangely quick and Louis' brow quirks; Niall's still in the kitchen when he waves good-bye and leaves as fast as he possibly can. He thinks he left the door open behind himself, but he doesn't turn around to be sure.

It's when he's in the comfort of his own room that he's able to pull the photograph out of his pocket to get a closer look. He's at his desk, and every light is on in his room so he can be absolutely certain that he's seeing what he's seeing.

And he studies every inch of it. 

From the wall behind the three men, to what's laying on the table. Louis' hair looks longer and it flares out around his ears and the back of his neck, so he knows it wasn't recent. Or maybe he just recently had a haircut? Harry squints at Zayn, and discovers his hair also looks longer. Maybe it is an old picture, then. And there's the boy he's never seen before. His shaggy hair parts down the middle and he has a chin dimple; he looks close with Louis to be able to touch his chest that way, and Harry can't shove down the spike of anger that rushes through his entire body. 

He puts the picture down on his desk and tightly closes his eyes to try and think back on the fuzzy memory he drunkenly had with Zayn.

"I know someone funny. I think you might like him. You know Louis Tomlinson?"

"That bloke from the dance? The one who filmed it and shit?" Zayn asks.

He made it sound like he didn't know Louis. Why?

And he was at Louis' house that one day! But Louis made it seem as if Zayn had only heard about his photography, and went to check him out. Why all the hiding? The lies? Even at the party it seemed as if they'd known each other for longer, but Harry didn't see it that way. He thought they just hit it off well. Turns out they have a secret life together.

Harry really doesn't know anything about Louis. He knows he inherited a load of money from his late father, he doesn't get on with his mum, and he has shit taste in music. He doesn't know his life, and from the looks of it, it appears he never will. He can't pry the truth out of Louis, that wouldn't be fair—not when he wouldn't want that done to him. 

Harry quickly picks up the photo once more, thumbs the corner, and then quickly flips it over. Scratchy, sloppy handwriting scribbled on the back, and slowly, he mouthed out the words, "Cloak and Dagger."

The name of the bar?

He continues, "London. Seventy-four."

Harry chews his lower lip and tastes metallic rush onto the tip of his tongue. He winces and swipes the blood off his lip, and then gently puts the picture down. 

Last year. 

He knew Zayn last year.


	19. 18.

Harry hung his head when he went to school. Liam and Niall never spoke to him, even when they'd pass each other, and even in their classes together. Harry got the memo. They wouldn't talk to him unless he told them what's going on, but Harry can be stubborn, too. He's not ready to speak a word to anyone, so for now, he'll stay out of everyone's business.

It became the longest day he's endured yet.

Dodging his mates, and even Zayn, proved to be a more difficult task than he planned it to be. He even skipped lunch; he couldn't bring himself to sit in a lunchroom with Liam and Niall most likely whispering about him to each other. 

After school he headed straight for the bakery to relieve Gemma when her shift was up. She flicked his hair with a wave of her hand, said, "see ya, wanker," and rushed out as quickly as she could. Harry resumed his position behind the counter and found last month's issue of Rolling Stone to skim through to pass the time.

———

He was thankful the evening rushed by much faster than the rest of the day had gone. It was rather uneventful at the bakery, on the chilly walk home, and even his home life altogether. He ate his supper, helped wash up, and dragged himself upstairs to practice on his guitar.

His fingers still hurt when he presses down on the strings, but it's becoming a lot more bearable than how it used to be. He practices the G chord and strums up and down without much rhythm, and after only a few seconds, the pain starts to spread onto his fingertips and cramp his palm up. He shakes his hand out, places his palm back on the neck, and tries to remember the C chord Zayn had shown him.

———

"What's wrong with you?" Jenny asks as she lays down against his bed, limbs all spread out.

"There's nothing wrong with me," he defends with a frown. He taps the eraser end of his pencil against his notepad incessantly, right leg bouncing in sync with it. "Perfectly fine."

"Clearly," she quietly mumbles. "You've barely said a word since I got here an hour ago."

"I'm studying," he simply says, though he hasn't read the first line in the chapter of his textbook yet. 

"Harry, what's bothering you?" her firm, yet gentle voice asks. "Surely there's a reason as to why you're acting so bizarre lately."

Harry huffs impatiently and spins around in his chair to stare directly at Jenny. "Why does everyone have a problem with me now? What am I doing wrong?"

Her brows raise and eyes widen. No words pass between them during their stare-down, and Harry starts to apologize, but Jenny says, "do you think you're doing something wrong, mate?" 

He quickly looks away and feels his brows pinch together, and slowly, a lazy shrug moves its way through his shoulders. "No?"

"If you want to stop this fake relationship, please tell me. I never wanted to force you into anything, Harry. I never wanted to make you feel like you're doing something wrong."

And Jenny's so goddamn genuine and honest that jealousy sourly pricks at his heart. It drags down the corners of his mouth and pushes against his shoulders, forcing him into a hunched position. He wishes he could be so openly honest. He sighs deeply, welcoming the air into his lungs, and hoping for a crack of relief from his overwhelming emotions. "That's not it—"

"Fuck it," she mutters. She moves to sit at the edge of the bed and her palms rub together nervously, which only makes Harry all the more nervous. "I don't need saving. I've dealt with men and their prying, assaulting fingers my entire life. Their hurtful words will always fucking hurt and that's why I came to you that night, but—but—" She sighs deeply and avoids looking at him. Harry blinks quickly, confused. "You needed saving, I think. Not me. And it's okay to admit that, you know. I'll be here for you."

Harry scoffs and shakes his head. The new emotion that's decided to take the lead role in his unauthentic life is offensiveness, and it's making a wonderful actorial debut. "I don't need saving. What are you on about, Jen?" He scoffs again for dramatic purposes.

"Don't be so thick, Harry! You know!"

Harry stands from his chair and shakes his head. "I don't!" His voice raises at her, and his usually calm self is replaced with an anxious, more angry version. "Is this because of that party? At Niall's? Is that why you're worried about me?"

Jenny quirks a brow and starts to shake her head. "No. I barely remember that night."

He sighs and slowly sits back down. His breathing is ragged and he feels like he could lash out at any moment if she pokes at him any longer, and he really doesn't need that. Not when all of his friends have left him for not speaking his mind too. "I know I was...intense that night. Is that why you're worried about me? You helped me upstairs, so surely it was evident that I wasn't that fucked up."

"Okay," she says, her hands waving the air pointlessly. "Let's backtrack. Helped you up the stairs? What do you mean?"

Harry's brows scrunch together yet again, and his forefinger and thumb reach up to tug at his lower lip. "You know..." he starts, but no other words follow. He tries to remember back to that night, but it's too foggy in his memory. He was almost certain it was Jenny that helped him.

"Oh!" Recognition settles over her features and she nods quickly. "Your mate, Louis, was there. Remember? He's the one that helped you. I was too fucked up myself for that. So, obviously, that's not why I think you need saving."

And it's like a billion walls have come crashing down around him. She somehow said the magic words to unlock the memory sealed away for drunk thoughts only, and the moments play out before him like a film projecting throughout his room. He's suddenly back at the party, where he's unable to keep himself standing. It's really like he's someone else watching this play out, and it's the most bizarre thing he's ever experienced.

He nearly tumbled onto the floor when strong arms wrap around his waist, and Harry looked up with utter surprise written all over his features.

"Louis," Harry had said. He blinked quickly and stumbled again, right hand coming up to pat at Louis' wrist. "Coming to dance?"

"No, mate, no," his steady voice said. He's always so fucking steady. "You can't even stand, Harry. Let's go lay down somewhere."

"Jenny," Harry mumbled, but he wasn't sure if he'd even spoke the word aloud. The grip on his waist was secure, and he found himself moving along with Louis at his side. "Jenny?"

"Jenny's sitting down. I'll take her home after you get settled," Louis spoke, all too serious and kind. 

Harry feels like he could throw up by how sweet Louis Tomlinson was, and by how much he wished to kiss him in that moment, and how that bloody dance ruined every plan he imagined for himself. He'd imagined meeting a nice girl and going about things normally, but that is very far from what's actually happened. He still felt as if he could throw up, but at that point, he's certain it was because of the alcohol. 

He giggled uncontrollably when they reached the stairs and when Louis tried to take on the task of walking a drunk boy—that can barely put one foot in front of the other—up the steps. He spots the banister and nearly passes out from laughing. "Louis! Can you imagine!" he cuts himself off from his own laughter, before saying, "sliding down the railing! Oh, I need to try!" 

He had moved all too quickly and immediately stumbled into Louis' side, who was there to wrap his arms around him yet again.

"Not one of your better ideas, love," he had heard Louis mumble.

Harry basically goes limp at that. He felt Louis take him up the rest of the way, but that word left him absolutely frozen. And he's already as immobile as he could be in this state of mind, but hearing that word roll off Louis' tongue basically took Harry out for good. They both enter the room without another word, and he was far too intoxicated to be examine his surroundings before falling out on the bed all limp. Before too long had passed, he had rolled onto his back and started moving his limbs around like a madman. 

"Does it look like an angel?"

Not a beat later—not even before he could inhale after breathing out those words—Louis' voice carried out, "you do."

The film playing before him suddenly vanished around him like smoke, and what replaces it is harsh reality. Jenny's looking at him with a confused look on her face, and he's standing yet again with as much haste as he can muster. 

"I need to go," he says, determined, "I have to get this dinner over with. And then I'm going to Louis'."

———

"Harry, boy, take a seat," Del says upon Harry's arrival.

Harry shuffles in and takes one of his two coats off. His tries to focus on his surroundings and at least act like he's completely aware, but he finds himself struggling to do so. Thoughts of Louis and that night keep flashing through his head, of every caring touch he received, the soft-spoken words. 

You do.

Did Louis mean that? Did he really look like an angel to Louis? That thought has his leg bouncing anxiously, and the fact that he has to dreadfully stay through an awkward dinner makes him almost furious. He knows one thing, though, and it's that he's not going to get his hopes up. He won't let these thoughts invade his entire being, only to be let down heartbreakingly so. He was wasted. Absolutely pissed. He could have imagined the whole thing, and he can't rely on his drunken memories.

"How are your studies?" his father asks.

Harry blinks his intrusive thoughts away and finally focuses on his Dad. He's wearing a blue button-up with brown slacks, his hair brushed to the side, and a glass of what he assumes is whiskey rests in his right hand.

"Good, good," Harry says with a nod. "Brought my maths grade up."

Del smiles and lightly sips his drink, a sigh following after. "About time."

Harry sighs and looks down at his hands. The skin on his fingertips from playing the guitar looks as if they're peeling, but he refrains from picking at it. He'd done that a few days ago and basically picked off what little callous he had from learning the guitar, which just so happened to be the most frustrating thing he's come to experience. He frowns at that thought, realizes it's so far from the truth, and tries to bring his focus back to the things in front of him: A ridiculous father who measures the love for his son by grades and achievements, and his intense girlfriend as she prepares yet another elaborate meal. 

Harry can't help but take a look around the room and imagine if this is all life can be. Is it a cold, hardened heart, and a wife that slaves away all day? Is it drinking so much whiskey that the taste no longer burns? Is it raising children, only to leave them to fend for themselves and just acting interested to play a part? He's familiar with playing parts, but he doesn't want it to look anything like this. He wants more—needs more. He never wants to live a life like this, where everyone is clearly unhappy and they just go day-to-day living a simple, ordinary, sad life.

He puts on the show for his father and Elaine, where he plays the part of a pleasant son that enjoys the meal being served, and enjoys the company surrounding the table. The mask covering his face holds a smile with sparkling eyes—as does everyone else's. But the closer he looks, the more clearly he can see the cracks in the masks. Everyone's true selves hidden behind joyful laughs that bring watery eyes, but Harry sees it. He sees the dull eyes filled with the tears that pretend are brought on by humor, and the frown lines etched in the corners of their lips. It's crystal clear to anyone with their own mask on. 

He supposes no one is ever truthful to themselves. No one is ever happy. Maybe it's this small town with its small town beliefs; he's now certain he wasn't meant for this place, and they wouldn't want him if they knew what was going through his head. Of the boy that always breaks through the roles he tries to act out so that he can conceal himself from prying eyes, and of the touches and lips that make their way into his dreams at night. The song he drowned himself in at the dance...

When he said his farewells, his mind was on one person only: Louis William Tomlinson. Which isn't very surprising, considering he's always on his mind, but this felt entirely different. As if he's realized something he never did before—as if he's seeing everything a different way now. And he needs answers. If opening up is what he needs to do, then he'll do it. He's tired of feeling so alone with his thoughts and with no one to turn to; he thinks his brain could give out at any moment due to the overload of worrisome thoughts. 

It's when the harsh, cold wind blows on his face that he realizes he's crying. He's not sure why, and he's not sure if he can even make it to Louis' house without having a full on breakdown, but the tears continue to roll down his cheeks as the stars cry from above. He's sniffling and his hands are trembling, and fuck, he wishes he would have driven his mum's car tonight. He's just so bloody tired of feeling misunderstood and hiding himself from everyone he loves. It's so hard being tied down by thoughts—the kind that never leave and make gray hairs appear. He's gasping for air by the time he reaches Louis' house and he's shaking from head to toe, and maybe he blames that on the cold, and not the scared feeling that pushes his heart into his stomach. 

He wipes his face on his jacket sleeve and sways unsteadily on the front porch, lower lip trembling and eyes puffy. He inhales shakily and frowns because he can't move and he can't do this. Why did he think he could do this? He's an idiot! He can't disturb Louis. He can't break the bubble surrounding the people in his life if they saw just a sliver of what runs through his head on a daily basis. His stupid thoughts tell him to sit because his locked knees are about to give out, so he does. He's pathetic, with his back to Louis' front door and his knees drawn up to his chest. His teeth chatter, his shoulders shake, and he presses his face into his knees to wipe the tears. 

So pathetic.

"What the hell?"

The shaking intensifies. He can't look up. He didn't expect Louis to be out and about—not inside and not having a clue as to what's happening on his front porch.

"Harry, are you okay?" Warm hands shake at his shoulders, then move to place atop his knees.

He sniffles and squeezes his eyes to push the remaining tears out before lifting his head. Blue, worried eyes lock on his for a brief moment, before they trail over the entirety of his face. He feels naked suddenly, with his emotions out on display before Louis.

"I'm sorry," is all he can muster. His voice is raspy and he has to take his lower lip between his teeth to keep it from trembling. Tears well up in his eyes once again. "I'm sorry."

"Harry, love, what do you mean? What are you sorry about?" Louis' hand comes up to cup Harry's cheek, his thumb swiping away tears.

Which only produces more.

Harry exhales a sob and grasps the back of Louis' hand as if he was drowning in the ocean and it was the rope being tossed to him to save his life. His other hand reaches to grab his wrist, face leaned into his warm hand, and this is it. He can't hide it anymore. He's choking on his own tears and Louis looks terrified, but he's not moving away or trying to make Harry be quiet. He looks worried, and he looks like he cares for him. Maybe he does. Harry prays he does. 

"You're freezing," Louis whispers. His other hand stays on Harry's knee. "Let me get you warmed up inside."

Harry's teeth chatter and he sniffles unattractively, but he slowly nods. "Louis," he starts, voice laced with worry and anxiety and he almost starts to warn him before he goes inside, but Louis shushes him.

"You can tell me inside. When you're ready and warm."

Harry nods slowly. Louis nods back, forces a soft smile, and stands with his hands in Harry's. He helps him up and keeps an arm around his waist as he unlocks the door and guides him inside. He tries not to overthink everything in this moment, as Louis leads him to the couch, as he sits down, and as Louis' draping a soft, blue blanket around his shoulders.

"Tea?"

Harry nods again. "Please?" 

Louis adjusts the blanket around his shoulders and offers another smile. "Be right back," he says before he disappears into the kitchen.

Harry looks around the room and immediately notices Louis' added some pieces to the living room. Personal pictures, of maybe his family, and drawings that look like they're made by a child. That alone brings a smile to his face; it felt like a home now—Louis' home. Those drawings and pictures made this look like a permanent home for Louis, and not a place he could just up and leave soon. 

"Hot tea," Louis says as he emerges into the living room. He hands Harry a cup and sits directly beside him.

Harry's hands shake as he tries to lift the teacup to his lips, takes a sip, and then sets it down on his lap. He feels Louis staring at him and it adds to his nerves tremendously, but what did he expect? 

"I like those," he says instead. Instead of saying anything else. He motions his head towards the new artwork on the walls.

Louis follows the direction his head nodded in, and instantly smiles. "Thanks. From my younger siblings back at home."

"Oh. That's lovely," he responds. The lump in his throat forms and he breathily inhales. "You're lovely," he whispers out quietly. So quietly, in fact, that Louis doesn't catch it.

"Harry." He looks over to Louis at the mention of his name, and the worried look is back in his eyes. "What's troubling you?"

The fact that I can't lean over and put my head on your chest, and that I can't kiss you, and that I can't hold your hand, and that suddenly everything is so bloody clear that it hurts, but I can't do anything about it, he thinks to himself. Instead, he says: "Everything." 

Right now, this is everything.

"Louis," he says, so desperately and sadly. He begs Louis with his eyes for something he can't speak aloud, and he prays Louis understands. Please understand. "Lou," he speaks again, this time voice shaky and a clear giveaway that tears will follow. They do.

"What do you want me to do?" he questions, almost begging. He wants to help, Harry can tell, but doesn't know how. "How can I help?" Harry's crying again, to his annoyance, but Louis just takes his teacup and puts it on the coffee table in front of them almost immediately. And then he does what Harry wants. 

He holds him.

He holds him to his chest and wraps both arms firmly around his shaking body, and Harry can't stop the embarrassing amount of tears that leave his eyes and stain Louis' shirt. "I can't," Harry says, voice muffled against Louis' top as he digs his face further into his chest because he doesn't want it to end—this feeling of being so protected and cared for.

"Okay," Louis mutters, "okay."

———

"I have something to give you," he finally says. 

They've been sitting in quiet for God knows how long. Louis rubbed his back and held him tightly until Harry stopped crying, and even then, he held him until he moved away. Louis didn't let go of him unless it was his choice, and Harry may cry again from that thought alone, but he refuses to. 

Louis' patience was unlike anything he's ever seen. The silence they sat in wasn't awkward, it was comforting. Harry had finally warmed up enough to drape the blanket off his shoulders, and maybe Louis was playing with the hair at the back of his head. Maybe it was why they sat in silence. Words would only ruin this moment, and he needed soft, caring touches. Louis somehow knew that. 

"For me?" Louis questions, brows drawn in with confusion written all over his beautiful face. The movement in his hair stops.

Harry only frowns. "Yeah. I took it without thinking and...and..." He sighs. "I'm sorry," he whispers out. He reaches down into his pocket and retrieves the small photograph he had taken from Louis, and almost immediately closes his eyes once it's pulled out. He can't stand to see Louis' disappointment in him. "I'm sorry," he says again.

He feels the photo leave his palm and silence drifts between them again. Louis snorts out a laugh, and that jolts Harry's eyes open. 

"Is that why you're so upset? Because you took one of my photographs?"

Harry parts his lips in shock. "I—no? Uh. But I took it. Aren't you mad?"

Louis gives him a look. "I can't be mad at you right now."

Harry sits up straight and sets a determined look on his face. "Yes, you can. You have every right to be mad at me."

"You gave it back," he simply says with a shrug. He looks down at the picture with a look Harry can't read, before he turns it over and places it on the table beside the teacup. "It's an old photo."

"You—" Harry cuts himself off with a shake of his head.

"What?" Louis asks. A small smile tugs at his lips and Harry despises him in this moment. "How do you want me to react?"

"Give me something! I do everything. I show up at your doorstep crying my eyes out, I'm always the one coming to see you, I—" He stops, doesn't want to say it, but the amused look on Louis' face forces it out of him. "I kissed you."

Louis, for a moment, looks taken aback and almost shocked, but then a playful smile spreads on his face. "I thought I returned the favor."

Harry's heartbeat pounds in his ears and chest and he can feel it thump throughout his entire body. It's the ease that has him frozen—the ease Louis displayed while mentioning the topic that's kept Harry paralyzed in his head since that fucking night, and it's a joke. It's a joke to him. That's all it is.

"I need to go," Harry almost instantly says. He can't be around him, not when he's finding this moment so goddamn amusing.

"Harry, wait," Louis says, hand catching his shoulder to ease him back down. "What do you want? Do you want me to kiss you? Is that why you're so upset?"

Harry doesn't say anything.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fu—

"I'd assumed you were getting plenty of good make-out sessions in with Jenny, Harry. Guess not?"

Harry wishes he could knock himself out in this very moment. 

"She got you so worked up that you had to come ask me for some attention?"

Harry retreats into himself and scoots nearly all the way to the end of the sofa to get some distance between them. "Fuck you," he quietly says. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. "Fuck you, Louis. God. Fuck you!" He abruptly stands and throws the blanket that was on his lap at Louis dramatically, and makes for the door. 

He hears feet stomp closely behind him, and when he opens the door, a hand reaches out behind him and shuts it firmly closed. Harry spins around and wipes away angry tears, tries not to look at Louis, but it's hard when he stands so close to him. 

Louis reaches out and places his hand on Harry's chest softly, eyes hard and unreadable, and Harry breathes so loud and shakily that it embarrasses him.

"Did you want me to place my hand on your chest?" Louis quietly asks, eyes on his own hand. Harry's eyes are wide. His head suddenly moves close to Harry's and he noses at his jaw without hesitation. "Did you want me to draw out a moment before..." he stops himself, looks directly into Harry's eyes before he inches closer, closer, closer—until Louis' breath fans over Harry's lips. "Before my lips touch yours?" Then his lips move to Harry's ear, his hot breath shooting a tingle down his spine. Harry's legs start to shake. "Or did you want me to kiss you here?" he asks, lips lowering to the spot below his ear. "Build up the anticipation," he mumbles lowly as his lips graze over Harry's skin.

He can't speak. And he can't think. And he might be dreaming.

"Is that what Jenny does?" 

Harry coils away and starts to shake his head; his lower lip trembles, and he doesn't know if he's so angry that he's shaking, or if he's going to cry again. "Why would you—say that? Why would you do that? What the—"

Louis steps away and rubs the palms of his hands together, his eyes downward—almost as if he can't look Harry in the eye.

"Why would you ever do that to me?" he quietly asks. He feels betrayed and so hurt that it actually does bring tears forward. He's so unbelievably pathetic but Louis appears to already know that. How can he go from comforting him to playing with his emotions like that? 

"I didn't do anything," Louis replies. He's still looking down. "Just teasing you to get a rise."

Harry wipes the tears that spill onto his cheeks. He didn't realize he suspected Louis to know what was going on through his mind somehow, because truthfully, he always seemed to know. He knew to hold him without even asking for it, but apparently he was far off from whatever he believed about Louis. Whatever he knew about him is possibly wrong, because if he never suspected Harry and his secret feelings, then he really thought messing around like this when he's feeling this fucking low was a splendid idea. 

What a twat.

"I wouldn't know what Jenny does," he admits, so pissed and upset that it just tumbles out. Louis' head shoots up at that, and an alarmed look takes over. "We were never together." He opens the door again, sniffles, and stops himself from leaving to say: "Why would you do that?" he whispers out with a frown, before he leaves a gaping Louis in the foyer of his house altogether.

"Goddamn it," he shakily breathes out once he starts to head home in the cold. He thought the tears would have stopped by now, but they haven't. How can Louis go from holding him, caressing his hair, and being so wonderful to...that? What happened? What did he do wrong? Why would Louis put his hand on him and drag his lips basically over his neck and ear for laughs? If anything, he had to have known Harry's feelings. Right? Why else would he have kissed him back at the stupid dance? Sure, Harry convinced himself otherwise, but Louis' different. He seems to know everything without even talking about it. 

He sobs uncontrollably when he arrives home and can't help himself anymore. He's so hurt it's unbearable and he has to confide in someone or he might explode in the worst way possible. Although his plans went sideways with Louis, he felt compelled to try and tell one other person. A person who has actually always been there, and might show little to no judgement. 

He doesn't even knock on Gemma's door when he reaches it, and instead tumbles in and tries to compose himself. 

She's sitting on her bed with a book in her lap, and for a moment, she looks annoyed. But then she really looks at Harry, and her book is closed within seconds, and her hands wave to motion him over.

He doesn't waste any time. He walks over to her bed and sits down, exhaustion filling his body instantly. She moves over to wrap her arms around him and he tries to control himself, he does. He can't cry this hard twice in a day.

"Gemma, I have to tell you something," he speaks out, voice low and raspy and sounding so unlike him. "I can't fucking—breathe—God." 

"Just—calm down, Harry. Give yourself a moment," she gently says. She rubs her hand up and down his back to try and soothe him. 

"No, I need to just get it out. If I wait, I'll change my mind, or something will happen that will prevent me from telling you, and I might not be able to live with this, Gem. I can't live like this!"

"All right. Okay. Get on with it, Styles, you're freaking me out."

Harry sighs deeply and tries to clear his head. It's just Gemma. Gemma, who's never had an ill thought towards anyone unless they absolutely deserved it. And Gemma, who accepts her gay friends and loves them dearly. She's incredible. She's free-spirited and open-minded. She's wonderful. And his sister. 

"The person I kissed..." he pauses to inhale, then says, "my first kiss was, um—uh. Gem, please. You can't say a word. Please, you can't hate me." He turns his head to look at her with desperate eyes. "Please."

"I could never hate you," she sincerely says. "I love you, Harry. You're my brother."

He blinks away tears and looks away from her. He can't see her reaction when he admits this to her. 

"I kissed Louis. Louis Tomlinson."

He can't breathe. He squeezes his eyes shut as tight as he can, and maybe time stops for a few seconds. It's out there, and he can't take it back, and now nothing will ever be the same. It can't be the same. Life will never, ever be the—

"Thank God," she breathes out. Harry's eyes fly open. "Like, seriously, thank God. The tension between you two is astounding."

Harry gapes, feels relieved, confused, and not sure if that was ever the reaction he was going to get from speaking this out loud. "Huh?"

Gemma laughs and hugs him at his side tightly, and he stays shocked and completely still. "Oh, Harry, honey. I had a feeling about you. I didn't want to assume, you know, but the way you look at him. The way you talk about him and sit around the phone for him to call, and—wait. Wait! Fucking wait! What about Jenny?"

Harry stammers and shrugs his shoulders. "Um. Not real?" He winces slightly at his words and awaits her reaction, which is one of relief.

"Why? Why did you both—" She stops, gasps, and shoves his shoulder. "She knows! She knows and helped you hide it!"

Harry scoffs, laughs, and then nudges her side with his elbow. "She doesn't know a thing! You're the first person I've told, you nutter."

She smiles up at him and grabs his face in her hands, and before he knows it, she's kissing him on the cheek. "Thank you for telling me. Now, tell me all about your first kiss, and why you decided to fake date Jenny. When did your life become so interesting? Shit, Harry."

Harry smiles happily. Like, truly happily. He didn't expect it to go so...naturally. As if she was expecting it? And it seemed as though she was—maybe she knew him better than he knew himself, but he fucking did it. He told another soul about how he made-out with a guy and how he potentially has feelings for a guy, and she still loves him. She wants to talk to him about it. It's how this should have been from the start, before Harry suffered through this by himself, but at least he had the courage to tell her in the first place. At least he no longer has to carry this burden alone.


	20. 19.

"Fucking wanker," Gemma scoffs out. "If I ever see him, I'll punch his dick. I promise you. I'll make it so terrible for him that he throws up. Fucking wanker."

Harry huffs and stares up at her ceiling. He's still on her bed, but they've moved from sitting to laying down on it. And they've been talking for a few hours now about every moment he's shared with Louis. The bricks that used to weigh him down were slowly removing themselves, and what's taken place over these few hours have been filled with such happiness that he can't believe he came in the room sobbing to her in the first place.

"Don't do that," he says, a smile catching at the end of his sentence.

"Yeah. I guess that's precious property to you."

Harry audibly gasps and tilts his head to look at Gemma. "That's not what I meant!"

They both laugh in sync and it almost feels normal to bond over this. For her brother to talk about kissing a boy and having a crush on him—because that's what this is: A crush. He's admitted that, but that's as far as he can think.

"Do you want to be with him?" she asks. The mood instantly shifts.

Harry inhales deeply. "I don't want to talk about that. I don't know what I am yet, let alone what I would want, so I—"

"Harry, do you like him? Does he give you butterflies? Does every little touch and look fuck with your mind so badly that you can't even operate properly?" 

He doesn't say a word. It is like that, but multiply it by ten. Every touch is like fire to his skin, and every intense gaze is suffocating and so wonderful at the same time. His mind drowns around Louis, and sometimes he gets such intense feelings in the pit of his stomach that he's sure he could be ill. It's all wonderful and thrilling, yet so terrifying.

"There's your answer," Gemma quietly says. She reaches out to grasp his hand in hers, squeezing it tightly. "I'm sorry if that scares you. I just—why would he kiss you back at the dance? I don't want to put thoughts in your head, Harry, but kissing another boy out of pity isn't a thing. I feel like—I don't know. I'm sorry. And I'm sorry he was such a tool tonight, advancing on you like that whilst you were so vulnerable. That's not cool, man."

Harry slowly sits up and runs a hand through his long, tangled hair out of frustration. He's tired, in need of a deep, long slumber, but that won't be possible. He still has school tomorrow. "I should go to sleep," he mutters. The bed shifts beside him, and not long after, Gemma's giving him another tight hug. "I know you won't tell anyone, but please don't even mention this to Matty and Barry. Even if you think they could help."

She releases him and nods once. "Absolutely. Thank you for telling me." He smiles softly and stands to leave, but her voice stops him. "You've always been extraordinary, Harry. This doesn't change that."

———

"Hey," he says, voice quiet, and his body and mind telling him to run far away, but he can't. He needs to talk to them. He needs some normalcy back in his life. "Can I sit?"

Liam and Niall exchange looks before settling their blank gazes back on Harry. He sighs, shifts on his feet, tightens his grip on the tray in his hands that holds a hoagie sandwich and chips, and awaits their response.

"All right," Liam says.

Harry gives a hopeful smile and immediately sits in the open chair beside Niall. He avoids eye contact, but Harry doesn't mind. It's a start. A few days without talking to his best mates is long enough, and he feels like he could collapse into himself at any moment. Instead of collapsing, he smiles at his mates, and tries to remain positive and not nervous in the slightest.

"Are ya gonna tell us what the fuck is wrong with you, mate?" Niall asks, his eyes still downward.

Harry gapes and searches his mind for the right words. "Um," he quietly says. He reaches up to rub his nose, and as he starts to, he instantly remembers they know it's his stupid nervous tick. So he drops his hand in his lap and sucks in a sharp breath. "I miss you guys," he mutters out.

Niall looks over at him with his brows drawn in, a touch of sadness glinting in his eyes bright eyes. "We just want to know what's happening to you," he sighs out. "We're not trying to be complete dicks."

Liam scoots his food away and places his arms on the table to lean forward. "Why are you being so secretive, H? We used to tell each other everything."

He huffs through his nose and feels his fingers twitch in his lap. "And then shit hits the fan, Liam. I'm not trying to hide things, it's just—like—" He stops himself and looks down at his untouched, bland food with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Maybe he should tell them everything—come completely clean and then deal with the fallout. "I'm not with—"

"Harry Styles?"

He jumps at the sudden mention of his name from a teacher standing beside him. He looks up to see it's Mr. Porter, whose glasses have slidden down his nose and looks as if they're about to fall off. 

"Yes?" he questions, and immediately sits up straighter. He hates being around his teachers out of the classroom.

"You're leaving early today," he monotonously says. 

Harry's brows shoot up. He looks around the table to see Niall roll his eyes, Liam huff quickly, but he stands anyway. His mates just don't understand what's going on in his life, and for that to happen, he'll have to open up about everything.

Which can't happen.

He's just not ready for that yet. What if they hate him? Like actually, truly hate him? He can deal with the radio silence because they're hurt, but not if they ever discovered the truth and still wanted nothing to do with him. If they ever showed the slightest bit of disgust if he ever opened up about what goes through his mind, he might implode. 

He stands with a forced, apologetic smile, and follows Mr. Porter out of the cafeteria once he's dumped his food. The walk through the hallway is silent and somewhat awkward, and though he can't remember his Mum telling him she was excusing him early from classes, he was excited to leave nonetheless. 

As they approach the office by the main doors, Harry smiles at Mr. Porter and leaves him behind to greet his Mum at the front. He hopes she'll take him to the diner for some proper food—he's starving and a decent burger sounds wonderful at the moment. But as he gets closer, the warm, happy feeling starts to evaporate from his body entirely, and is instead replaced by a cold, hollow one. 

"What are you doing here?" he somehow musters out. He stops in his tracks to put some distance between them, because being physically close to Louis is the last thing he wants right now.

Louis looks over at Harry from staring at a bulletin board that displays all of the school's activities and programs, and doesn't make a move to inch closer to him either. Instead, he offers the softest of smiles. 

"Anne said I could—"

"You spoke to my Mum?" Harry asks, then scoffs. He lifts his hand to rub at his twitching eyebrow to soothe it over, but the frustration and embarrassment from last night is something he's yet to recover from. 

"Uh, yeah," Louis laughs out, his hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck.

Harry inspects him once with pinched features, and finds he looks somewhat uncomfortable and uneasy. It's not like he forced Louis to be here, so why would he show up if he clearly didn't want to be around him? He tries to not focus on his outfit, because he's discovered when he starts to look at his clothes (like the blue sweater he has on now which is doing a wonderful job at complimenting those ocean, clear, wonderfully blue eyes. And the sweaters always look so damn good on him—it's a crime), his mind runs wild with how amazing he always looks. 

Like it's starting to do.

Louis clears his throat and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "She said I could come, uh. All right. Look, Harry, I want to talk. I don't like how last night ended and your Mum said I could take you somewhere."

Harry shakes his head and tries to understand what Louis' saying. "Take me somewhere?" he asks, and then he quickly steps back when Louis steps forward. "Why would she agree to that?"

Hurt flashes through Louis' eyes and he instantly freezes. Harry doesn't care if he hurt Louis, not after what happened last night. Not after he cried his heart out to him and then watched Louis find amusement in toying with it.

"Because she...she said that you could use a getaway trip. Says you've been a bit down lately with your Dad stuff," he gently says while stuffing his hands into his jean pockets. 

Harry's tongue swipes over his lower lip before he takes it between his teeth to chew nervously at. It's different seeing Louis nervous and the timid one for a change, and maybe—just maybe—he feels bad for last night. 

Maybe. 

"Okay," he quietly says. He avoids eye contact, stares through the glass windows of the office instead, and draws out a long breath. "Where are we going?"

"London," he says.

Harry's head instantly turns back to Louis, his eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. "London?" he questions, voice hinting a bit of excitement. "Never got 'round to visiting London, you know. Dad hated the city."

Louis nods at his words and offers a warming smile. "Let's be on our way, then. Got a few hours ahead of us." He holds a hand out toward the door.

Harry sighs and nods once, before walking as confidently as he can out the door with Louis trailing behind. He spots the bright, red car almost immediately, and awaits for Louis to unlock the door. Once he does, he slides in with a huff and doesn't give Louis the opportunity to shut the door before he's slamming it closed first. It's quite frustrating trying to be so mad at Louis. 

"Are you hungry?" Louis asks once he's behind the wheel. He starts the vehicle and begins to drive away from the school, his eyes squinted at the road ahead of them.

"Why are we going to London?" he asks instead, despite his grumbling stomach. He doesn't want Louis doing him any favors, like buying him food.

"Uh, okay," he breathes out, forces a smile, and bites his lower lip anxiously. "I'm sorry about last night, Harry. I'll...I'll explain everything when we get there."

Harry groans unhappily and flops his head back on the headrest. "What, two hours away? So I'll just be sitting in suspense until then?"

Louis genuinely flashes a smile (to Harry's annoyance) and gives a shrug of his shoulders. "We can chat. How's life been lately?"

"You can't be fucking serious," he mumbles out harshly. He sinks down into his seat and feels instant regret with agreeing to come along. Though a little trip and missing the rest of school sounded nice, he's sure it will be ruined with having Louis at his side for the entirety of it.

Why did he have to go to Louis' last night? Did he really think he was strong enough to talk about his feelings? And did Louis really think it was amusing to ask that question? As if he doesn't exactly know what's going on in his life!

"Bad question, my apologies," he huffs. 

"Yeah," Harry agrees.

"Look," Louis starts, his hands squeezing the steering wheel tightly and knuckles going white, "I know I fucked up last night. I'm trying to make up for it. Just...try to bear with me here, H. I—I—" he stops, breathes in deeply, then says, "There's a lot you don't know. And it's not fair to you, considering you've let me know you quite well. I just wanted to return the favor. And apologize repeatedly for—uh—harassing you last night. Fuck, I don't know—you'll just—" He cuts himself off and sighs again.

Harry watches him speak, watches his brows furrow and lips turn downward. He's already shown a part of himself he's never revealed to Harry, so he's anxious to see what he'll open up about. Something's bothering him, it's obvious—he's never appeared this nervous before. It's interesting watching someone that seems so perfect struggle to find the right words to say. It makes him seem so...human.

"For the record, I never thought of it as harassment," Harry finally says. He clears his throat and turns his head to look out the window. Only you toying with my feelings, he adds in his head. "So, how many apologies do you have prepared?"

"I've been working on a few," Louis says, voice almost sounding hopeful.

"I'm expecting more eloquently spoken ones," he says while trying to bite away a smile. He can't help it. He doesn't want Louis feeling bad, even if he did fuck up, because Louis' the goddamn sun even when it's raining.

"Of course, yeah. Oh, and is it all right if we stop by and see my Mum?" 

Harry immediately looks over at him and away from the boring view outside. His eyes are still glued to the road, his grip firm on the steering wheel, and his body absolutely stiff. It's strange to see him so out of sort.

"Yeah, that's fine," he softly says. He remembers Louis saying they don't get on well, but maybe it wasn't so bad between them. "She's expecting us?"

Louis tilts his head side to side, as if weighing his thoughts. "Maybe. I suggested I stop by when I rang her this morning because I miss my younger siblings, but she—she didn't really say much. If you don't want to, that's okay. It might be awkward."

"Why don't you two get along?" Harry blurted out. Maybe it was to see if Louis was really about to open up today, and this was his way of testing the waters. He remembered Louis mentioning they just butted heads his entire life, but he refused to believe that was the only reason. 

"She expected a lot," Louis starts, much to Harry's astonishment. "And pressured me too much to turn out great. First boy, first child—comes with expectations that I never met. Then when Dad passed, and she heard I wasn't going to be a lawyer like he was, she flipped." He scratches his head with a forced, straight look on his face. "It was like she wanted me to be like him to—to keep him alive somehow. I couldn't handle that responsibility, you know? Especially when I like to be me own person, do me own things. Be free. Photography allows me to do all that."

Harry slowly scales his face and struggles with his own thoughts that run through his brain. Louis really is trying to open up, and honestly, Harry's not exactly sure how to respond. He hates that he wants to hold his hand again like they did only a few days ago, but only to bring him comfort this time. 

"I hate that," he quietly says. And he means that as sincerely as possible. "Can I ask what your Dad was like?" He's possibly pushing for too much, and he understands if Louis doesn't want to talk about that, but he thought he'd try and ask.

Louis' thumb taps against the wheel, but he nods anyway. "Yeah, yeah. That's fine. Dad was... Well, he was funny. Like, never took anything seriously despite his job," he begins with a smile. It's a painful smile. "Always made time for us kids. And he was a busy guy—made a name for himself as one of the toughest people in the profession. Um, so when he died of a stroke, it was a complete shock."

Harry's lips part in surprise and he instinctively reaches out to him, but stops his movements altogether. He instead pokes his arm lightly and tries to give a heartwarming smile to comfort him somehow. "We don't have to talk about this if you don't want to."

"So," Louis starts, slightly coughs to clear his throat, before saying, "I noticed, um, last night you liked your hair being played with to calm you down."

Harry blinks quickly and finds himself rubbing his palms together to give him something to do. He didn't even think about that yesterday, seeing as how he was so emotionally fucked up. God. Louis played with his hair! Like it was the most normal thing to do!

"I like it when, um, like—like what calms me is when, uh—" Louis stops himself and almost looks like he's blushing—Harry can't quite tell. "Like, ear rubs?"

Harry giggles, and he doesn't mean to, but it happens, and he can't take it back. Louis actually is blushing, and even looks embarrassed. Harry's absolutely loving it. "Ear rubs?" Harry laughs again. "Sorry," he quickly adds through his light laughs.

Louis crinkles his nose and shrugs. "Yeah, bloody ear rubs. Go on, have a laugh. Just trying to make things equal between us."

Harry reaches out quickly and takes the lower part of his ear between his forefinger and thumb to give it a squeeze. Louis gasps and swats his hand away out of surprise, and Harry can't keep in his cackles, even doubles over in his seat from laughing so hard.

"Not like that, you twat!" He exclaims, shoulder coming up to rub at his ear. "Fuck," he huffs out. "I tell you one thing."

"Maybe now we're even?" he says jokingly, but Louis almost frowns at his words. 

"You can pinch my ear again if that's what you were trying to do."

Harry chews at his lip and shouldn't feel bad, but maybe he does. It's hard to be mad at Louis when he doesn't want to be, and when he's obviously trying to make up for it. It's just...last night really did hurt him; even so, he doesn't want to do the same to Louis. He reaches over and watches Louis visibly tense, expecting Harry to pinch his ear again, but Harry decides to do the thing Louis said comforts him. His right thumb extends out while his forefinger holds the back of his ear in place while he slowly starts to rub. Louis' tension vanishes from his body and he even leans his head slightly closer to Harry's hand, and honestly, he's sort of shocked. His whole body relaxes all over, and he heavily blinks while his thumb pads over the small spot of his lower ear.

"Like that?" he asks, voice quieter than normal.

Louis slowly nods. "Yeah," he says, almost in a daze. "Like that."

Duly noted.

———

The rest of the car ride was filled with stupid jokes that made them laugh, more honest stories from Louis, and a Harry that tried not to overstep. He wasn't used to Louis being so honest and was scared to ask the wrong things, so he often found himself thinking hard on a question before asking to see if it was appropriate. It's definitely strange seeing Louis so open, even if he appeared slightly uncomfortable with doing so. There wasn't much for Harry to open up about (he's going to ignore the large, looming thought hovering over his head about the unrequited crush he's currently working through) which makes him feel like he's not bringing enough to the table. He's always been an open book—apart from these past few months—and he's not used to things being so difficult with friendships.

It was when they finally approached the big city that Louis started laying out the warnings with his family.

"They'll try to break you down," Louis had said.

"What?" Harry'd asked.

"Me sisters are terribly nosy. Don't let them get to you. They'll discover your darkest secrets if you show a sliver of weakness, mate," he had continued. "And me Mum might be annoyed by all the ruckus, but ignore that. She might not like you either, but I'll tell you why later."

Harry felt panicked. "Why wouldn't she like me?"

Louis had glanced over to him with a look on his face he couldn't quite read. Sadness flashed through his stormy, blue eyes, perhaps. "I'll tell you afterwards," he gently says. "Don't worry. We'll be in and out. Won't let them torture you for too long."

The rest of the ride was silent, so of course, Harry spent the rest of the way overthinking about how to act around his family. He shouldn't be as nervous as he is, but his palms start sweating up when they begin to drive down a nice neighborhood of houses that all looked the same: two-stories with red brick. When he finally pulls over and parks off the side of the road, he tries to pull himself together for Louis. He can't be nervous when Louis should be the one spazzing out!

"How many siblings do you have again?" Harry asks.

"Four younger sisters."

"Holy shit," he gasps out. Louis laughs. "I—sorry, just trying to prepare myself."

"They'll love you," he gently says as he reaches out to ruffle Harry's long hair. "You're a charming lad."

Harry attempts to smooth over his hair with a forced frown with having his hair mussed up, but really, he couldn't care less. He turns to Louis and smiles encouragingly, before they both leave the vehicle together. He steps by his side when they head to the front of the house, each stepping on the small steps that lead to the front door in sync. Louis visibly inhales deeply before he reaches out to knock loudly on the door, and then finally releases the breath.

Harry folds his hands in front of himself and patiently waits with a tight-lipped smile, and when the door swings open and a young girl with light, brown hair appears, he really doesn't expect a hug from her after Louis' received one.

"Oh," he quietly says, slightly hunching down to hug her back. She has large, blue eyes and smiles sweetly up at him. "Hi."

"Phoebe!" She suddenly shouts, voice high-pitched as she scurries away from them and runs off to find this Phoebe person.

Louis elbows Harry and walks in with a happy smile. He rubs his palms together as they slowly walk through the house, which just so happens to be the exact opposite of Louis' style. Green, floral wallpaper is touching every wall he's seen yet, and crooked portraits of his family nearly take up every inch of the walls. And he hasn't even seen the rest of the house. He trails behind Louis and tries to take in as much as he can, but soon he realizes the family portraits start to have one thing in common: Louis' not in any of them. Harry immediately frowns and feels his brows scrunch together, finding himself trying to check every photo hanging from the wall to see if it's true.

There's plenty of the girls and his mother, who appears happy despite Louis' negative words, but he still doesn't spot a photo of Louis with any of them. Why is that?

"Louis William!" a little girl shouts out.

Louis laughs and picks up the girl to hug her tightly, and her blue eyes meet Harry's while doing so. He squints his eyes and tilts his head, because he swears that was the little girl that hugged him at the door.

"Phoebe!" he says back, hand coming up to hold the back of her head. "Where'd Daisy go?" He asks as he puts her down. 

Harry makes a mental note: Twins. One's Phoebe and one's Daisy. Got it.

"Went to find Lott's!" She happily says. "Who's the boy?" she not-so-quietly asks Louis.

Louis glances behind himself and at Harry before whispering back, "My mate, Harry."

"Oh!" she starts to giggle, before saying, "is he your—"

"Sh, sh," Louis quickly says, his movements fast as he reaches out to hug her to his chest in attempt to silence her. 

Harry confusedly smiles and stays patiently still.

"Here, let's go sit," Louis says to him. He grabs his upper arm and leads him through the green hallway, and feels himself flush when Phoebe quietly says, "ooooh!" beside them after Louis had grabbed him.

Harry awkwardly laughs at her and allows Louis to pull him wherever he pleases. When they enter the living room, Harry's slightly taken aback by the decor of the place and how different it is from Louis' taste. It's the same green wallpaper, same picture frames with family photos in them, but there's more different pieces scattered about. There's two large clocks on separate walls (which doesn't make total sense to Harry), a fireplace on the middle wall, and random drawings tacked up that look similar to the ones Louis had hung up in his house.

It looks lived in and cozy. The furniture is a suede red and bounces slightly under his weight, and as he's inspecting things over once more, he finally spots a photo with Louis in it. It hangs above the fireplace, and the longer he stares, the clearer it becomes that it's a rather old picture. His father is in it as well, who stands straight and holds one of the twins as babies in his arm with a tight-lipped smile, and Louis' mum stands next to him with the other baby in her arms with a bright smile that lights up her entire face. She looks kind and so young, even with five children surrounding her, and he sees a lot of Louis in her.

"No fucking way," a more matured voice says from the opening in the living room. All Harry sees is a swirl of blonde hair before she's attacking Louis on the sofa and knocking him over with a hug. 

"Jesus," Louis breathlessly says, arms coming around the teenage girl. "When did you get so big?" he quietly asks her.

She laughs and slowly eases up off him, adjusts her tie-dyed shirt, before her eyes fall on Harry. "And you are?"

"Harry," he says with a wide grin, his hand outstretched.

She swatted his hand away, and if given the chance he would have frowned, but the girl threw her arms around his neck just seconds later.

"Welcome to this dysfunctional family, Harry," she says into his neck. She pulls back a moment later and instantly squishes herself between the two boys. "Mum's upstairs," she says to Louis. "Fiz is out with her girls and won't be back in time to see you."

"Shame," Louis mumbles, his hand wrapping around the girl's shoulders. 

Harry sits quietly and tries not to be awkward (let's face it, he's always awkward), and maybe he audibly gasps when Louis' hand reaches over to tug at the ends of his hair playfully, before he places it on his shoulder to squeeze at. He's annoying himself, honestly, to be so caught off guard by a simple touch and for it to be so...wonderful. He's doing this in front of his family! 

He's possibly making this out to be a bigger deal than what it is.

"Prince boy!" one of the twins call out before hopping up onto his lap.

Harry's eyes go wide and he reaches out to steady the joyful girl. "I'm Daisy! I have a freckle right here," she says, pointing to a spot on her cheekbone, "and Phoebe doesn't. That's how you can tell us apart." She sweeps her hand through his long hair with a look of awe on her face. "Your hair is like a prince's hair. So pretty and curly. Louis, do you like his hair?"

Louis leans over to get a look at them, his face lit up brightly with a smile he's trying to bite away. "I do. Really do," he says with a quick wink. 

Harry's stomach flutters.

"Daisy, get off the guest," an older woman says as she emerges into the living room. 

Harry immediately sits up and Daisy scurries off of him and settles at his right side. His eyes drift over to Louis to see that he's tensed up again, his arm removed from his sister and hands resting in his lap with a blank look on his face. His eyes trail back to his mother, who stands straight and has frown lines around the corners of her mouth, with a glass of wine in her left hand. Her hair his dark with streaks of gray through her roots, and her face seems permanently frowned.

"Hi, Mum," Louis says as he stands. He walks over to her with confidence and ease, but Harry can see how stiff his arms are as he moves to give his mother a hug. She returns it with one arm and still shows no emotion while doing so. "How are you?"

"Fine," she monotonously says. "Who's your...friend?" Her voice is quiet as she asks the question, but the hate that resonates within her tone makes Harry flinch.

"My friend is Harry," he lowly replies through clenched teeth. His mother rolls her eyes and sips her wine glass. "Don't be like that. You don't even know him."

Daisy pokes at his side and he looks down with a forced smile, his hand coming up to ruffle her hair.

"Harry, how are you?" His mother asks with a sickly sweet smile. She moves to sit in the suede, red chair that matches the sofa next to it, and crosses one leg over the other. She squints at Harry, trails her eyes over his face and long hair, until they come back to settle on his eyes. It's as if she's trying to read his personality from the way he's sitting. "You're young. How old are you?"

"Almost nineteen," he quietly says. He clears his throat and straightens up so much that it hurts his back.

"For fuck's sake," she mumbles with a shake of her head. "So," she starts again, her eyes on him as she lifts her wine glass up to take another drink. "You two are...just friends?"

His brows pinch together at the intention put on the word "friends," but he nods anyway. "Y-yes. Just friends." He inhales deeply and glances over at Louis, who's watching the situation unfold before him with a worried look in his eye. "Louis is already a favorite in my small village. The people love him, and he's even photographed school events already. You all should come visit sometime. My Mum would love to host you."

Her eyes narrow and she nods at his words as she sips from her glass. Daisy gasps at his side.

"Yes, Mum! I'd love to visit Louis in his new house—he said it's huge!" Daisy bursts out from his side. Phoebe comes skipping in not a moment later, and she goes immediately to Louis' side. "We miss him," Daisy huffs out.

"That's why I'm here," Louis says, the genuine smile returning to his face, "to see you girls. My girls." His eyes find Harry's and he nods in his direction, as if thanking him, and he smiles back shyly.

"Oh, please," his mother scoffs. Her eyes float between the two boys with a judgmental look. She stands a few seconds later and disappears to the hallway, with a mumbling of "wine," trailing out of her lips.

Louis moves over to Harry and shoves Lott's to the side to make room beside him. When he sits, he nudges Harry's side and almost looks elated. "Thanks, mate," he says, beaming at him, and it's so bright that it blinds Harry.

"Get a room," his sister groans out.

"Lottie, shut up!" Louis exclaims with a laugh. 

Harry blushes and finds himself beaming back at Louis. He can't help himself. He is the sun, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> hi, so i won't be writing Felicite into the story, and louis' mom is named Janet. i feel it's disrespectful to include them in a silly fanfic, so. yeah (:


	21. 20.

"We can't stay long," Louis' voice says from the kitchen. "I didn't come here to fight! I just came to see my family!"

Harry sighs and smiles at the twins, who have both brought out their paper dolls to play with. He joined them on the floor while Louis' currently hashing it out with their mother. He's trying not to butt in and listen, but the shouting made it awfully difficult.

"It's like that every time he visits," Phoebe says. Her eyes are squinted at the short, purple dress she's placing on the paper doll with absolute determination. She sets up the doll on the floor once the paper dress is placed on it and smiles. "They hate each other sometimes."

Harry frowns and doesn't pay attention to the paper outfit he chose for the doll he was given, just places it on the Barbie cutout with a sigh. "I hate that," he mumbles.

Daisy laughs at his side. "You can't pair that top with that skirt!" she cackles out, and hands him the matching top to the green miniskirt. 

He takes the green, paper shirt and replaces it from the sweater he had previously placed on it. 

"Mum's an arse," Lottie says from her spot on the couch. "She's always had it out for Louis."

Harry looks up to her as she speaks. He realizes they all have similar eyes, so blue they're almost icy, but still resemble more closely to calming ocean waters. Louis' are still the prettiest, though.

"Why him?" Harry asks, and regrets that only seconds later. "You don't have to tell me. That's his business. He's already told me about how she always pressured him to..." he trails off and looks at the young girls which are staring up at him innocently. He smiles and looks back over at Lottie. "I just didn't think it was that bad. I really hate it for him."

Lottie shrugs and sighs deeply. "You must have a great relationship with your Mum."

Harry's lips part slightly, but then he softly smiles. "Is it that obvious?"

She laughs and shrugs her shoulders. "I can tell. You're...well-maintained. But something is off with you." She squints and taps her chin thoughtfully. "I can read people, you know. Their aura's. Yours is yellow. It's bright and kind of annoying."

Harry jerks up slightly and grins so wide it hurts his cheeks. "Yellow! That's my favorite color," he gushes. 

She smiles and nods. "I can tell. But there's still something off with you." Harry's smile drops. "Like, maybe, a bad relationship with your father? Is that it? Or maybe your cat died when you were young. Those two I get mixed up, you'd be surprised."

"He's not Elijah, don't get your knickers in a bunch! Seriously, Janet. To throw that in my face? Are you fucking kidding me?" Louis shouts from the kitchen.

"I'm your Mum, Louis! Call me Mum!"

Harry stammers and tries to find the right words to say to Lottie, when Louis abruptly walks in with a displeased look on his face. When he catches sight of Harry on the floor playing with his siblings, the look on his face lightens up to an almost smile. 

"Ready to go?" he asks Harry.

The twins pout and stand to cling to Louis, each wrapping themselves around his ankles. 

"Not so soon, Louis!" Daisy frowns out.

"You just got here, lovey!" Phoebe says with a dramatic, fake sob.

"Girls, girls," he says with a sad sigh. He bends to pat at their heads. "I can't stay long. I love you both so much. Keep writing and drawing to me, yeah? I'll be back soon, don't you worry." Daisy sniffles and Louis' face falls. "None of that, Dais! Happy days, happy days!" he cheerfully musters out, though even he looks on the verge of tears. The twins both stand up to attack him with bear hugs.

Harry maneuvers around the hugging siblings to give Lottie a hug. "It was nice meeting you, Lottie," he cheerfully says. "I think you and my sister would get along well."

She pats his back before releasing the hug, her bright blues happily staring up at him. "Yeah? She strange like me?"

Harry tries to keep his laughs in. "Stranger, no doubt."

Lottie surprisingly hugs him once more, this time a lot tighter than the previous hug, and it nearly knocks his breath away. "Thank fuck. I can't stand normal people."

He belly laughs that time and releases her with the widest of grins. She's wonderful. He wonders what their other sister (Fiz, was it?) is like. When he turns around, the two younger girls are waiting expectantly for their hugs. He bends down to be level with them and awaits the harsh tide of brown hair and blue eyes that nearly knocks him on his bum when they come running into his arms. 

"Oh, Prince Harry, please come back. None of his friends have ever played dolls with us!" Daisy, once again, dramatically says. She kisses him on the cheek and Harry might pass out from how adorable she is. Who knew eight-year-old's could be so lively?

Phoebe matches the dramatics and even musters up a few tears. "You're so much better than Lottie's friends. They think they're too cool to play with us." Her eyes go wide and she leans closer to him, their foreheads nearly touching as she whispers, "cunts."

"Phoebe!" Lottie exasperatedly shouts.

Harry laughs and takes them in his arms once more. "You've all been the loveliest girls I've ever had the pleasure of meeting," he quietly says to them, as if it was a secret between them only. Phoebe releases herself to pick up the paper doll Harry had messed with, and handed it over to him. "For me?" he asks, taken aback.

"Yes. To remember us by," she speaks to him all too seriously. "It's my favorite one."

Harry holds it to his chest and gives her an equally serious look. "I'll guard it with my life."

"All right, all right," Louis says, his hands on Harry's shoulders to pull him up. "We must be on our way. He's never been to London before."

They all join in on lecturing him, and he swears he hears someone say he can't possibly be British if he's never visited London before. He somewhat agrees. 

He's rushed away from the girls by Louis, but Harry forces him to slow down when Janet appears at the entryway with a newly filled glass of wine in her hand. He approaches her with a smile and and nods in her direction. "It's nice to have met you," he says, smiling as sweetly as he can.

She inspects him with a twitch of her eye and nods back. "You as well, Harry. What's your last name again?"

"Styles," he replies, still smiling widely. Maybe he was trying to prove to her that he was good, despite her judgment-filled gazes. He hopes smiling enough will show that, as crazy as it sounds. 

Louis tugs him finally away with a shout of farewell to his family, and when he's finally free, he breathes in the cool air as soon as they step outside. Harry softly smiles at him and hugs his body to stay warm; the both of them walk down the steps and to Louis' car, none of them saying a word, as they step into the car together.

"Your sisters are..." Harry starts.

"Intense?"

"I was gonna say energetic. Hard not to completely adore," Harry says with a laugh. He watches Louis crank the car and drive onto the main road, his right thumb tapping against the steering wheel. "You're good with them. They love you."

Louis exhales through his nose and nods once. "Thanks. They're...I wish I could see them more. Mum would have a gargantuas sized cow if I came 'round more often."

Harry snorts and shakes his head, bites the inside of his cheek, considers asking what thought is floating around in his head, and he decides to do it. "Why can't you and Janet get along?" Louis huffs. "Like, I know you've just...that she's held these expectations for you, but—I don't know, she seems so..."

"I know, Harry. I know," Louis says with a tinge of frustration in his tone. "She's so bloody difficult."

"Who's Elijah?" Harry blurts out. Maybe he should have kept that thought to himself, because Louis jerks so harshly that he accidentally moves the steering wheel of the car and nearly sends them to the other side of the road. Harry places his hand on the door and the other to the back of Louis' chair. "Shit," he mumbles.

"Fuck, sorry. Sorry," he breathlessly says. He blinks quickly and glances over at Harry. "All right?" Harry nods. "Sorry," he repeats. He sniffles and shrugs his shoulders. "Elijah was...my...mate? Um. We were really close, but we got caught up in some—some shit. It's hard to explain, Harry. It's just—"

"Hey," he softly says. He does it out of instinct, doesn't even think twice about it, but his hand reaches over and he instantly starts to rub his ear. He realizes what he's done after he's started, but he can't stop now. "You're fine. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, Lou. You've already opened up so much—brought me to your house and gave me the chance to meet your lovely family, despite your mother. You're fine, Lou, I promise."

He breathes out a light laugh and appears so relieved by his words. His tight grip on the wheel loosens, the tension leaves his shoulders, and he begins to lean into Harry's touch. "Lou," he repeats with a certain tone to his voice. Almost...adoration? Surely not, though. "I like that. And, Harry, I want to tell you. I will tell you."

His fingers cease their movements, and his hand falls to squeeze at the space where his neck meets his shoulder. "I just don't want you to feel forced, you know?"

"Harry," he starts, his voice almost hesitant—reluctant. "What I did last night—"

"You're fine, Lou. You've apologized. We're fine," Harry interjects.

"I know that, but what I—"

"Seriously," Harry cuts him off once more. He just doesn't want him to feel bad for what happened anymore. He's...over it. "Let's just enjoy the rest of the day!" he tries to positively say. 

Louis closes his mouth and nods, but that worried look returns to his eyes and Harry wants to question him about it, he does, but he's afraid of pushing him too far. He moves his hand away from Louis altogether and puts his attention to the Barbie paper doll Phoebe had given him. 

"I can't believe she gave you that," Louis says, his gentle voice interrupting the peaceful quiet. "She's never even let me have one."

Harry grins and holds it up like a trophy. "Guess I'm special, then."

"Yeah," Louis agrees, "guess you are."

———

"It's cold," Harry whines out unhappily. He slides is hands into his jacket pockets and can sense Louis roll his eyes.

"It's easier to walk, Harry. Trust me. I don't even trust myself in the London traffic," Louis says next to him, his elbow jutting out to nudge his side.

Harry nearly trips over his own foot and instinctively reaches out grab Louis' upper arm. He's distracted by the bustle surrounding him to focus on how he's grabbed Louis' arm and doesn't let go, and instead, his gaze settles on the buildings ahead of them. Neon signs stretch far and wide upon every building, and people move past them with straight faces and businesswear outfits. Upon the business-people are the ones with colorful outfits walking around, and Harry's positively amazed. Where he lives, the clothing risks aren't like what he's seeing with his own eyes. It's much more lively and daring—skimpier, in spite of the weather—but fashionable and full of life. It amazes him.

"A Routemaster!" He excitedly exclaims, hand still wrapped around Louis' arm. He watches the double-decker bus whiz by in utter awe. "Incredible," he quietly says.

Louis looks over at him with sparkling eyes and a purely sweet smile on his mouth when Harry turns to look at him. It's then he realizes how close together they're standing, and how tight his hand is on his arm. His eyes fall to where he's gripping onto him, and with absolute reluctance, his hand falls to his side. Louis doesn't seem to notice.

"There's a restaurant around here somewhere," Louis says as his eyes scale the signs from above. "Feels like forever since I've been here."

Harry watches him intently and wonders when he was last here. The image from the photo appears back in his memory—with Zayn and the unknown boy. He wants to ask him about it because he never had the chance to last night...before everything went sideways. He still has so many questions; Louis said he'd tell him everything eventually, and he's beginning to wonder when that will be. And why now? 

"Here it is!" Louis suddenly says.

Harry snaps out of his thoughts and peers up at the sign from the building above them, and immediately stops in his tracks. 

Cloak and Dagger. 

He blinks quickly and looks back at Louis, who seems unfazed by Harry's abrupt stop, and is admiring the windows with a wide smile on his face. The restaurant (it looks more like a bar) is tucked away between two protruding buildings and is almost hidden if it weren't for the sign sticking out from above. It blends in and hides perfectly away, and he doubts he would have seen it if Louis hadn't pointed it out first. Louis' clearly happy by the sight of the place, and Harry feels uneasy for some reason, and somehow he puts on a smile and moves to stand beside Louis. He's not sure how to feel.

"I love this place," Louis says to him before he pushes the door open. A bell signals their presence from above the door. "Jem!" he shouts out, leaving Harry's side to run up to the bar. He stands on a foot-rail at the bar and peers over with childlike joy. "It's me, mate!"

Harry's smile remains when he slowly walks over to Louis. It's definitely a bar, with dim lighting and only a few people littered about, but it seems cozy. Brown paneling surrounds the room, along with pictures of customers with pints in their hands and loving smiles on their faces. Harry's eyes go wide when he sees a picture of two boys planting a big one on one another's lips, and a guy behind them with their hands raised high in a celebratory fashion. 

"William!" A voice says back to Louis.

Harry's head turns back quickly to the man standing behind the bar and enveloping Louis in a tight hug. When he stands, he stands tall and confidently—and, wow, he's really tall. Much taller than Harry. He approaches calmly and slowly, not wanting to intrude on their reunion, and takes a seat at the bar quietly to watch them speak.

Louis' positively beaming at this Jem guy and looks so at ease and happy that it shocks Harry. He's joking around and laughing so loudly—it's music to Harry's ears.

"Louis William," Jem says, voice soft and sort of...feminine? "Who is this beauty?"

It takes a moment for Harry to realize he's talking to him, so he stands and reaches a hand over instantly. "I'm Harry," he smiles out.

Jem looks at him fully. He's wearing a short top that shows his bellybutton, and a crotchet, pink covering over the top. Sewn into it are sparkly beads and sequins, and the closer Harry looks at him through the dim lighting, the clearer it becomes that there's red lipstick on his mouth. 

"Put that thing away," Jem says with a laugh. He reaches over and pulls Harry into a tight, loving hug. He smiles and can't help but inhale his flowery scent, as sweet as perfume. It's wonderful. "Where did my William find you?" he asks after pulling away. He holds Harry's shoulders in his hands, eyes roaming over him with a wide smile.

Harry shyly smiles and feels a blush creeping on for being stared at so intently. "William?" he softly questions, eyes blinking over to Louis who's poured himself a beer from a pitcher sitting on the bar.

"Oh, it's his nickname. We all have them here," Jem basically sing-songs out. He's so wonderfully happy. "My name is actually James." He gags and curls his lips in disgust. "So plain. So simple. So...masculine. Terrible! I go by Jem, because it makes it sounds like I'm a gem, which I am." He giggles, removes his hands from Harry, and waves them around with a spin of his body. "I'm vibrant and beautiful like a gem."

Harry's eyes widen with complete joy. "Absolutely," he says with a smile. His eyes flit back to Louis to see he's already staring at him, eyes shining brightly behind his glass. "Why the nickname, though? Isn't William your middle name?" he asks Louis, brows scrunching together.

"Darling, no scrunching. You'll wrinkle your beautiful skin," Jem says to him.

Harry instantly un-furrows his brows and feels his face heat up. Louis breathes out a chuckle and reaches out to pat his knee.

"Yeah, it's me middle name," Louis responds with a nod.

"William, have you not told him?" Jem asks, eyes curious and dark as they float between the two. 

He's handsome with tight, curly hair that flows to his shoulders. He's got an average build and looks as if he's in his mid-thirties, but acts much more younger. His brown eyes are youthful and glowing, and honestly, Harry doesn't know what's going on—who he is—but he already loves this place.

Harry tries not to stare at Jem as he laughs and moves around behind the bar. Clacking noises resonate and Harry can't help but peer over as sneakily as possible to see where it's coming from—and, oh. It's Jem. He's wearing red heels. Harry settles back into his chair and bites away a smile from the feeling that suddenly surrounds his body. Jem is so wonderfully himself without a care in the world that Harry could cry from seeing it with his own two eyes. It's so inspiring.

Jem moves back in front of Harry with a bottle of white wine freshly poured into a glass, which he quickly downs. "This, sweet Harry," he pauses to fill up another glass, which he slides to Harry. "Is a gay bar."

His body instantly stills. His eyes, on the other hand, scan the room slowly, as if the way a chair is moved would confirm Jem's words. The pictures on the wall. It's filled with happy men who are embracing themselves and having fun—and Jem. He's unlike anyone Harry's ever met—or seen, even. He feels like he could double over and cry. Because for what feels like ages he thought he was going through these crazy thoughts alone, and that he was an absolute nutter for imagining kissing Louis—for kissing Louis. For thinking about holding Louis' hand. For thinking about things boys shouldn't, but apparently do. This whole place is dedicated to boys like Harry. 

His words leave him and he doesn't know how to react. He doesn't know if he wants Louis to know about these thoughts still, because that's a whole different world he'll have to live through in secrecy. And Louis may not even... Is he? Is Zayn? Is that boy that was with Louis in the photograph gay, too? 

Harry takes the wine glass slowly and downs the fruity white wine in one motion. He hears Jem giggle, feels Louis stand beside him, but his mind doesn't quite process these things. Louis leans over to tell Jem something, which has him disappearing to God knows where. Then he feels Louis' hand on his shoulder.

"Let's go sit," he simply says.

Harry nods and stands, leaves the wine glass on the bar, and stiffly follows Louis through the building. He goes for a corner booth and Harry instantly knows why it looks so familiar.

"This is—" he stops himself and slides into the booth, where it still looks exactly the same from the photo. 

Louis stares at him with a nervous look in his eye. "Yeah. From the photo," he confirms. With his own mouth. Using his own words!

Harry gapes. "I didn't—I, um—well. Why? You and Zayn? How?" His words don't make sense, but he's struggling with his thoughts too much to form a coherent sentence. Louis flashes a smile at Harry's words that eases him.

"Zayn is my mate," Louis starts, "and we just always did shit together." He pauses and looks down at the marked up table, fingers tracing over words Harry can't make out. "We found this place together, and...I met Elijah here," he softly says, with glances up to Harry every so often.

Harry leans forward and places his elbows on the table, his right hand coming up to rub at his nose frantically. He feels something click in his mind, and immediately knows Elijah's the one in the photo next to Louis. Little instances come flooding in, when he was so blinded about the things Louis' done that were so obvious now looking back at. And his family—the way they talked as if...as if Harry was with Louis. But is he that way? Is Louis like Harry? Has he been this whole fucking time?

Harry doesn't say anything. He can't. He needs Louis to tell him with his own words. He needs to know he's never been alone.

"It was the first place we could be ourselves," Louis continues with a quiet, shaky voice. "It was our home." He stops to inhale softly, eyes darting off to the side nervously. "But we got found out. Elijah's folks were—they were so furious. They hated me, said I turned him, said he was possessed for being—for being with me. And then they told Mum and it just blew up. I couldn't live here—he couldn't live here. I moved quickly, travelled, got lost. Didn't know where I was half the time, honestly."

His eyes turn red and he might be crying. Harry can't tell under this lighting, but he's frozen. He doesn't know how to reach out and comfort him, because he feels so bloody paralyzed in his seat.

"And then Zayn moved. Told me to move with him, because it was an easy place to hide out and try to be normal. So I did," he says with a sigh. He finally looks Harry in the eye and he is crying. It makes his eyes so blue, but hurt and loneliness is consumed in them. 

How had Harry never noticed that before? He thought he could spot the people wearing their masks from miles away.

"And then you..." he trails off with a shake of his head. "Bright-eyed, young, unknown of the harsh world surrounding you. It was so refreshing. I had spent months bouncing around from strangers, so high that I didn't know who I was with. And then I see your smiling face, and I couldn't...couldn't stay away. You were happy, and curious, and—and not broken. Harry, I tried so bloody hard to be normal. I thought being around you would help, but your goddamn green eyes and their innocence. They told me everything you were thinking, everything I didn't want to believe, because—"

Harry's hands start to shake. Because Louis knew. Louis knows. He knew this entire time, and the whole friendship Harry spent his time thinking he was just leading wonderful roles for being able to conceal his thoughts like he did. 

"—because that meant it was happening again. I was finally happy, but it was happening again. And last night when you—fuck," he breathes out, his lower lip trembling as tears finally fall down his cheeks. He takes a moment to collect himself, to wipe his tears, and to steady his voice. "I knew what you were trying to say," he finally gets out. He shakes his head and avoids looking at Harry. "And I didn't want you to. It honestly scared me. I thought the dance was just a fluke—that you kissed me because you were just lonely, and then you called and said you kissed me out of pity. And then Jenny happened, and I was relieved. I thought we could just be mates, until last night. Until you came crying, and I noticed the look in your eye. The weight of reality had finally gotten to you, and you were in so much pain."

"Louis," Harry finally says, but his voice doesn't sound like his. It was a whisper of the word, shakily spoken. He's not sure what he's trying to say, but he feels as if he could cry at any minute now. 

"And then you said the whole thing was a fucking sham—your whole relationship with Jenny. I thought, fuck, it's worse than I thought, and I made you feel like shit for doing what I did. For playing with your feelings. I did it to try and scare you, Harry, to—to hopefully not make you—"

Harry leans his back into the booth seat, his entire mind spinning. He grips the seat below him and feels tears well up in his eyes, but he refuses to cry. Not when Louis' crying; he has to show some strength for him. Louis' doing what he never imagined himself doing, even when he tried to last night. 

Fuck. 

It's all out. Everything. It's obvious, and they can't go back now, and Harry wants to kiss his cheeks and his eyes and his nose. And maybe his mouth. Definitely his mouth. 

"I didn't want you to struggle like me if you were... Um, so I tried to hurt you instead. But I ended up hurting myself more, I think, because I couldn't sleep at all last night. I kept imagining what I would have wanted, and how I struggled, and I don't want you to have to, Harry. If you're gay, like me, I don't want you to have to struggle with it. Because you're not alone. And I'm so fucking sorry if I made you feel that way last night, I just didn't know how—"

Harry stands abruptly, his mind still spinning which makes him lightheaded, but Louis instantly closes his mouth. He swallows thickly and looks around, and realizes for the first time, he won't have to hide anything. Here he can do whatever he pleases, and no one can do anything about it. So he moves out of the booth, winces when he hits his hip on the table, and clumsily moves to sit down next to Louis. His eyes are bright blue, clearer than any ocean waters could ever be. There's caution and worry in his eyes, and Harry wishes he could speak like Louis can. The way his words are clear, even when they're hard to get out. 

So, instead of speaking, he reaches out a shaky hand and places it on Louis' right cheek. His thumb swipes away a few tears, and his heart is pounding so hard he's worried for himself. His hand is still shaking against Louis' cheek. He doesn't know if he can do what he plans to, what he's dreamed about doing for so long now. Ever since the dance. The burning desire to have his mouth on Louis' was shoved down so far that it came bubbling up like a fire in his throat that burned away all words, and is now working its way up to his brain to burn all thoughts. 

"You're the sun," he whispers. Louis' brows draw in with confusion, but Harry tries to push through the fire consuming him. "I didn't know how to get close to you. You're everything bright and warm to me, and I couldn't risk getting burned. I thought I was the moon and would spend my days forever watching from a distance, trying to reflect your light."

And then it happens. The sun collides into the moon, and the fire consumes them both.

Harry's almost knocked out of the booth by the force Louis puts into pressing his lips to against his, and he tries to steady himself by wrapping his arms as tightly as he can around Louis. It's hot and needy and absolutely so desperate that it knocks the wind out of Harry, but it's also so wonderful and ecstatic. Louis' lips are still silky smooth, and there's a hint of the pint he just had on his mouth that Harry can't get enough of. He's not worried about how to kiss right, or if he's doing it incorrectly, because his mind is completely gone at this point, and all that's left is Louis Tomlinson and Louis Tomlinson's lips.

Harry pushes into him, the position slightly uncomfortable to his back, and that makes Louis grab at his hips and tug him into his lap. Harry's back hits the table, but he's in Louis' fucking lap, so he's not complaining in the slightest. His hands come up to Louis' cheeks to hold, and maybe he almost starts crying like a pathetic loser. Their mouths move in sync, until Louis' lips move to suck on his lower lip. Harry full on moans, doesn't know it's coming to be able to silence it, and he feels Louis breathily laugh against his mouth before he pulls away.

Harry frowns and leans his forehead against Louis', his mouth ghosting over those silky lips with want. He doesn't want it to end; he doesn't want to leave this place and go back to the real world, and he doesn't want to stop kissing him. He wants the music and the fire to fill his senses, and he wants to get lost in these touches and noises. He needs to feel this way for the rest of his life.

So Harry kisses him again after they tried to catch a breath, because he unbelievably can. It's slower this time, his mouth sucking on his lips the way Louis did to his (he's a fast learner). His head tilts, nose bumps Louis', and he decides to take his time with getting his lips accustomed to Louis'. To feel the way his soft mouth dances against his own, the way his fingers move up and down his thighs. The music is back, and it's flooding his entire senses. It's the song he's missed for what feels like years—the song he couldn't quite remember until now. He's got a full on addiction to it, and he hopes to never forget the way Louis sounds when he sucks on his lips, or the way it feels to have his hands roam around his thighs and lower back. 

The pent up fire from before swirls around them and burns their skin wherever their fingers touch, but it feels so wonderful and right that he doesn't care if he burns. This fire—this passion—is everything he's missed in his life. Everything he's craved for. 

And when Harry finally pulls away, it's only because he felt as if he could pass out from not breathing. His forehead rests against Louis' with his eyes closed, trying to cling to the last of these fiery moments before it evaporates. He's scared it will never happen again like last time.

"Fucking hell," Louis mumbles beneath him. "Been wanting that again for ages."

Harry laughs and blinks his eyes open. Louis' grinning beneath him, and it's him. It's Louis. There's no hard-to-read eyes, there's no layers to peel away—it's just Louis. 

"Louis," Harry starts, throat dry and lips swollen, "I think I'm—I think I like boys. I think I like you."

Louis chuckles and reaches up to tuck a stray piece of Harry's hair behind his ear. "I think I like you, too."

Harry bites his lower lip to try and conceal a grin, but it comes anyway. Louis looks up at him with dreamy eyes and the same red, puffy lips. There's no running away this time, there's no rush to be somewhere, and there's no guilt. This, Harry realizes, is what it should have been like from the start if he lived in a perfect world.

"My, my, my," a voice rings out, "you two have gotten awfully comfortable."

Harry can tell his face is red. He scrambles off Louis, bumps his back on the table again, and plops himself at his side.

"Don't stop on my behalf, lovelies. Just bringing the food William ordered," Jem says with a wink. He places two plates of sandwiches down in front of them and steps away with a sparkle in his eyes, which is directed to Louis. "I'm sorry," he says, suddenly choked up. He rubs at his eyes and sniffles. "Just happy for my William."

"Jem," Louis groans out with a shake of his head. "No need to cry, love."

"Right, right," he says with a wave of his hand. He spins on his heels (literally), and walks away with a sway of his hips.

Harry looks down at the plate in front of him, and suddenly feels a wash of shyness overcome him as he sits next to Louis. He tries not to think about what could happen, and what this means for them moving forward, so he stays quiet. He doesn't want to ruin this bubble they've surrounded themselves in, and he doesn't want to overthink anything.

"He's happy for you," Harry decides to say with a nervous laugh. He looks over at Louis with a shy smile on his mouth.

Louis shakes his head slightly. "Last time he saw me was—I was a bit of a mess. Sort of said I'd never come back." He chews on the inside of his cheek for a second, staring off in a daze, before he looks back at Harry with a smile. "He's glad to see me doing well. We just look out for each other here."

"I like that," Harry says with a crooked smile. "Hey, what should my nickname be?"

Louis laughs, says "oh-hoh," along with his laughter, and rubs the palms of his hands together. "Let's see here." He squints his eyes at him and roams the entirety of his face, before they follow the length of his hair. "Curly. Definitely."

"I like it!" Jem shouts from the bar, who obviously doesn't care about eavesdropping. "Welcome, Curly!"

Harry grins and looks down, let's the word bounce around in his head before nodding to himself. "Curly," he whispers. He loves it. 

For the first time in what feels like ever, he feels like he belongs somewhere.


	22. 21.

"It's tradition!" Louis says with determination, the butter knife tight in his hand.

Harry gapes and firmly shakes his head. "Absolutely not! I'm not marking up Jem's tables!"

Jem walks by, heels clacking and signaling his presence. "It's tradition, babe. Don't disrespect the nickname."

Harry huffs in defeat. He can't possibly argue against the owner of the joint, so he accepts the butter knife and tucks his lower lip between his teeth in thought. Louis had shown him where he, Zayn, and Elijah had marked the table with their nicknames. Zayn went by Kilam, which was his last name backwards, and Elijah was El. He felt weird if he put his nickname next to William and El (they were right next to each other), so he moves to put it at the corner of the table below Zayn's.

The wood table, at first, was hard to cut through with only a dull butter knife, but once he finally breaks through the top layer of the wood, it becomes much easier. Sloppily and with great difficulty, the words "Curly" appear on the table. The C looks more like a sideways V, and the U actually does look like a V, so he finishes with a displeased look on his face.

"Perfect," Louis says from beside him. "Curly."

They finished their sandwiches not long before Louis insisted upon him carving into the table, with small talk and with flirty, unnecessary touches brought on by the sole purpose of being able to. Harry laughed with Louis, leaned into his side, pinched at his thigh humorously—all because this bar created a safe place to do so. He wonders how many hidden gay bars there are in the world, because there should be some sort of Gay Map to locate them all. It's a silly thought, one that makes him giggle at himself, but it would be useful. But then again, very tragic if fallen into the wrong hands. The idea of a Gay Map still brings a smile to his face, though.

"I think we should explore a bit more before I take you home," Louis says.

Harry nods and feels the smile slowly vanish from his face. He looks around as the bar continues to fill up as it's nearing five o'clock, with a weird feeling spreading throughout his chest. He somehow forgot this safe space is only that, and he can't take it with him wherever he goes with Louis.

"What's gonna happen?" he quietly asks, his fingers tracing over the wood he'd just carved into.

"What do you mean?" Louis says at his side, his fingers coming up to brush through the back of Harry's hair.

Harry almost smiles at the touch. "With us. How are we gonna..." He finally turns to face Louis, allowing his eyes to roam over his features. The hair growing around his jaw draws his focus, and he nearly reaches over to touch it before he decides against it.

"It'll be fine. We can be discrete. I mean, if you don't want to, I—"

"Of course I want to," Harry plainly says, green eyes searching blue ones. "I've never felt this way about someone, and I don't want to act like it never happened. I'm tired of being so...so consumed with emotions that have to be hid." He bites the inside of his cheek and looks back down at the table. "It just made me feel so heavy. Like I was carrying something I wasn't strong enough for."

Louis sighs lightly beside him and removes his hand from Harry's hair altogether. "We can make it work. And if it doesn't, fine. We'll just be best mates."

Harry frowns and shakes his head. "I don't want to be best mates and daydream about kissing you all the bloody time." 

Harry feels delicate fingers gently grip his chin and turn his face. Louis' looking at him with mischief in his eyes and a tight-lipped smirk on his mouth, and he can't help but roll his eyes at the sight of him. 

"Like this?" he asks, head coming forward to place his lips against Harry's. He instantly opens his mouth to continue the kiss, but all too quickly those lips are gone. "Or like this?" 

Harry gasps when Louis noses down his neck and then starts to pepper the lightest of kisses the way down. He gasps even louder when he sharply bites at his skin playfully before a gentle kiss was placed where the harsh nip was at. 

"You're rude," he breathlessly says, his hand trailing up into Louis' feathery hair. He feels a breathy chuckle against his skin, and seconds later, Louis' popping up with a grin on his mouth. "Very rude."

"These are all your firsts, aren't they?" Louis asks with a fond look. 

It's really easy to read Louis' face when he's no longer hiding himself away.

"Yes," Harry quietly says, almost ashamed. It is sort of embarrassing, given his age. He removes his fingers from Louis' hair and boldly reaches out to thread their fingers together. 

"Are you embarrassed?" Louis questions. He squeezes his hand.

He shrugs and looks away. "I dunno. I am...inexperienced, you know? I don't know how to do this stuff."

"Well, if it's any consolation, you're the best kisser I've met." Louis grins widely, all teeth and pure beauty beaming at Harry.

Harry stammers over his words and feels his face warm up, but feels a tiny bit proud with himself. He's not an expert in this area at all, so for Louis to say that sort of means a lot to him. Especially when he hopes he's doing a good job at it. Any kissing he'd previously done was either tipsily done in a school hallway, or drunkenly done with haste that it shouldn't even count. And the one on his couch with Jenny that really shouldn't count. Anyway, the point is, he's inexperienced and Louis is the complete opposite of that.

Louis breathily laughs at him with a shake of his head upon Harry's visibly shocked face, but he can't really help it, can he? 

———

"Darlings, please don't hesitate to call if you ever need anything," Jem says with a frown on his painted lips. They look shinier than before, as if he coated them with even more gloss. "Kisses." He leans forward, grabs Louis' shoulders, and places a kiss to each of his cheeks. Harry looks up at him with a shy smile, and scrunches his nose happily when Jem leans down to place wet kisses on his cheeks.

"I'll ring you tomorrow and check in, yeah?" Louis says, his hands grasping Jem's forearms tightly. Harry could tell he didn't want to leave just yet. "Around four?"

Jem nods, curly hair bouncing around his face. "Absolutely, darling. And please don't leave out a single detail," he says with a pat of Louis' cheek. He turns to Harry suddenly very seriously, and Louis drops his hands. Jem stands directly in front of him and and cups his left cheek gently. "Harry, the world doesn't know how to handle people like us. Don't let it hurt you—stay true to yourself, and everything will fall into place."

Harry blinks up at him and nods quickly as he prepares himself for the outside world. He wishes everything could be like this room, where there's not a hateful word muttered, but instead praise for embracing themselves. All Harry can do is nod at Jem, force a smile, and nervously turn with Louis to head outside. He feels his heart sink; outside they can't be this way. Outside they have to conceal themselves. Harry chews nervously at the inside of his cheek and walks in step with Louis, but as soon as they reach the door, Harry's hand reaches for Louis' all too quickly. He tugs at his hand, pulls Louis and forces him to stop.

"What is it?"

His brows are drawn in out of confusion and his eyes dance over Harry's face, but he's set his mind on this. He won't back down, he won't wimp out, because their feelings have been discussed. Somewhat... But he can do this one thing—it's not a big deal! Even if Harry's trying to overthink it, which is ridiculous, because he just made out with him whilst sitting on his lap. A simple kiss shouldn't make him this nervous. 

"I just want to..." he pauses, eyes on Louis' red lips that look so bloody kissable it shouldn't be allowed.

So he goes for it. He leans over rather fast, his hands up to hold Louis' soft cheeks in his hands, as he places his lips on Louis'. He instinctively opens his mouth and welcomes Harry's lips, their mouths melting together as he kisses him as if he'll never be able to again. This could be the last public place to ever kiss Louis, the last place to kiss him before his entire world changes once they walk out these doors. Harry deepens the kiss by sliding his hands down to wrap his arms around Louis' neck, his entire body pressing closer to him. He just wants Louis to fill all his senses to where he's completely suffocated in the most wonderful way possible.

"Harry," Louis hums against his mouth, his right thumb rubbing against Harry's hip soothingly. 

Harry ignores Louis and his obvious need to say something, and instead moves his mouth slightly over to trail kisses along his jaw experimentally. He hears Louis sharply inhale and Harry almost smiles, almost removes himself, but a thought popped into his head. And, honestly, he's already started, so he might as well play it out. He drags his mouth over to his ear, doesn't think twice about it—doesn't have time to—when he bites at the lower part of his ear.

"Shit, Harry, hang on," Louis breathes out, his hand coming up to Harry's chest to push at. 

Harry complies and backs away slightly, his back straightening, and a blush creeping up on his cheeks. "Sorry," he quietly says, watching as Louis starts to rub at the ear Harry was biting at.

"No, you're fine, it's just—" He breathes deeply and then smiles, eyes roaming Harry's nervous face. "Never mind, Curly," he slightly laughs out. His hand comes up to pat Harry's cheek once out of amusement. "Let's go, love."

Harry shyly smiles and nods, mutters an "okay," before following after Louis to the door. The tips of their fingers graze, but they don't intertwine. It's unspoken between them, a common fact known that they can't hold hands outside of this place. They can only graze fingers, exchange secret glances and other soft touches they might get away with. It's fine. Harry can do this. Harry can totally—

"Oh, thank fuck!" An excited voice calls once the door to the bar was thrown open. It's familiar blonde hair and a swirl of blue eyes that put distance between their fingers. "Louis, Harry," she breathily says, half-hunched and out of breath. 

Louis reaches out and squeezes her shoulder. "What? Why are you here?" he asks, voice gentle and full of concern, which concerns Harry.

She straightens up and inhales deeply again, her hair wild around her face as if she'd been running through the cold wind. "Mum, she—" she gasps and clutches her side as if it was pinching in pain. "She found your Mum, Harry. She's trying to get ring her."

Harry's eyes go wide. His heart sinks down into his stomach, and then somehow finds its way in his throat. He feels like he could throw up and pass out all in one moment, and just when things were getting better in his life, it only makes sense for everything to crumble around him.

"You're joking," Louis says, his face going from worried confusion to pure anger. "What the fuck? Can't you stop her?"

Lottie sighs and shuts her eyes with a shake of her head. "I tried. She found found her in the telephone directory, Louis. I'm sorry. She thinks you're trying to—" she abruptly stops, glances at Harry's concerned features, before sadly looking back to Louis. "To turn him...you know..."

"That's bloody ridiculous," Harry says, voice weaker than he wanted it to be. "Nothing can turn me. It doesn't work like that."

Louis looks at him with hurt swimming in his blue eyes, but not just for Harry. He could tell it was hurt built up over the years of having to listen to a mother repeatedly tell him he's evil or possessed for the people he's attracted to. For so much hatred directed towards him that he had to move cities after losing a father, replant himself somewhere so unlike home, and surround himself with people he didn't know. And he looks hurt that she'd be doing this to Harry, too.

Harry feels suddenly so suffocated, like he can't exactly catch a breath due to the looming fact that his Mum might figure out about Louis, which means she'll figure out about Harry. Just when he figured out himself. Just when he thought things were finally clearing up around him. He gulps loudly, pushes the lump forming in his throat down, and the sick feeling encompassing him away. He's used to shoving emotions down, so it's the easiest thing to think of in the moment. He doesn't want to throw up.

"Let's just go," Harry says, his tone surprisingly calm. He can see the panic in Louis' eyes and, from the lack of words spoken, he appears lost on the next step to take. "Maybe I can get home with enough time to deter the call?"

Lottie nods and taps her fingers across her lower lip in thought. "Yeah! Maybe I can distract her long enough. Yeah?"

Louis nods, but doesn't look very convinced. "Okay. Yeah, sure. Let's go."

———

"It's just one thing after another," Harry quietly says in the car. Louis may be speeding home now, the both of them anxiously sitting in quiet on the way until he spoke. 

Lottie swore to distract Louis' Mum long enough for them to get home and intercept the call, but there's a possibility it won't work. Janet seems stubborn, head-strong, and he's certain Louis' sister won't be able to keep her from doing it. 

"I'm sorry. If I knew she'd ever do something like that, I never would've introduced you. I'm so sorry, Harry."

Harry stares at Louis, watches the way his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel, and the way his shoulders stiffen up. He wants to reach over and help relax him, but he doesn't want to overstep. He wants to do a lot of things, really, but none of them will happen once his Mum finds out. She'll probably forbid him from seeing Louis; hopefully that would be it, but there's also a chance she would tell her "girls" about him, and it spreads around town, so it forces Louis to move again. He doesn't want to think about that. He can't believe his mother would be so against Louis for being the way he is, that she'd spread it around town. This is just new territory; they've never discussed this topic. Maybe he should have faith in his Mum. She's kind, so caring, and loves people. She loves Louis. Maybe they're just being dramatic.

"In no way is this your fault," Harry finally says. He feels somewhat calmer now; he knows his Mum. He knows she's a wonderful person. "Everything will be fine."

"Harry, if she knows—" He stops himself and starts to bite his lower lip. Harry looks at him with furrowed brows. "If she knows," he starts. "Then in no time the entire village will know."

"We'll make. She won't know, Louis," Harry weakly reassures. His heart's heavily pounding in his chest; he can see what Louis' trying to say, but doesn't want him to. He can't say it. 

"But if it happens, I might have to—to move, mate," he finally says.

Harry sinks in his seat and feels his entire body get cold all over. He's mad, upset, and so unbelievably frustrated. His arms cross over one another, and he knows he's frowning. He's trying to think over Louis' words, tries to be understanding, but he doesn't want to be. He won't be.

"Don't—don't call me that," he softly says. He looks at the road ahead—can't look at Louis. "I'm not just a mate for you to leave behind."

"I didn't mean it like—"

"You've just settled. You're happy there. You can't just—just leave me. Not when I've just discovered myself. Not when I...like you so much," he weakly says. Don't cry, don't cry. 

"Harry," Louis gently says, a tinge of sadness in his voice. "I'm just trying to prepare you. It could really blow up and everyone will force me to leave."

Harry, don't overthink. Don't overthink about how he didn't say he liked you back. Don't start thinking he doesn't really like you, and will just up and leave when things get rough. Don't start. 

"But it'll be hard. I already crave your presence enough as it is. After finally being able to kiss you, do you think I want to stop anytime soon? If you say you're the moon, then I must be the water you're pulling to get closer to you. And no, I won't comment on how ridiculous I sound."

Harry can't help but smile to himself. All this time he's compared Louis' eyes to ocean waters, and to have him compare himself to it is just...a full circle moment. If only Louis knew. 

He likes the idea of Louis' words being the last thing to float around in the car, so he decides to keep his mouth shut to not disturb them. 

Crave your presence...

Pulling to get closer to you...

He feels his hand reaching out across the space between them without much thought. He might as well revel in the moments before everything explodes, where Louis may have to leave (he won't think about that), and before everything flips upside-down. So, he holds his hand. It's a small gesture, one that says everything he didn't. It's comfortable and gentle and so special—as special as hand holding can be—and it makes his heart and belly flutter. Louis' hand is soft and slightly cold (which, when he stops to think about it, could be the reason why he's always covering his hands with the sleeves of his sweaters), and Harry's hand is always warm, so it balances itself out. He doesn't look at Louis to see his reaction to this small moment they're sharing; he just wants to shut his eyes and feel it. 

Their fingers interlock and Louis' thumb rubs over his knuckle, and honestly, Harry could cry. It feels like everything has happened so fast; just at around lunch he couldn't stand being around Louis, yet here they are, the truth spoken, and their hands held tightly together. It feels like they'd done this for months, because it wasn't awkward for Harry. He thought it would be. When he stops to think about it, holding hands is sort of strange. Who thought of something like that? Why is it a sign of affection? It’s just a simple touch, yet it fills Harry to the brim with joy.

"You won't move," Harry quietly says, his eyes still closed. He can tell Louis tenses by the way his hand shifts in his. "If we don't make it in enough time, I'll find a way to fix it. This is your home now—you have a right to stay."

"Harry—"

"Sh," he shushes. "Don't, please. Don't tell me you might have to leave after all this—after I've finally figured out who I am. No one will understand, Lou, no one. I can't do it alone, I—"

"My turn to hush you," he interjects. Harry opens his eyes and glances over, but Louis' smiling. He sighs out of relief. "I'm here, Curly. You've got me."

He gives him a thankful smile and squeezes his hand.

"Can I ask you something?" Louis questions. Harry immediately nods. "That night at the party, when you were high of your arse...were you trying to tell me? When you were rambling about the crying stars?"

Harry bites at his lip and feels his shoulders move up and down almost robotically. "I don't know. I think so. I don't think I even knew what I was talking about." Harry exhales out of his mouth and squints his eyes over Louis' features. "Counter-question: Do you think I look like an angel? Because, apparently, that's what I recall from my drunken memory at Niall's house."

"Oh, shit, you heard that?" Louis breathily laughs, almost nervously. Or embarrassingly—he can't tell. 

Harry lightly laughs at the sound of Louis' laughter.

“Honestly? Yeah,” Louis says. Harry holds his breath. “You’re just...you’re beautiful, Harry. You’ve got eyes that could will their way with anyone, curly hair that makes you appear so damn enchanting...You’re just beautiful. In an angelic kind of way.”

Harry feels his cheeks warm up from the compliments and he struggles to find the words to say. He could write a thousand poetry books of all the lovely things Louis Tomlinson is, and how bright and enticing his features are. He’s never quite felt this way before; he’s only ever received compliments from his Mum and sister, and those don’t really count. Hearing that from Louis? That means everything. He’s becoming everything. And this is only a few hours into confessing their feelings? How the hell will Harry contain himself? How will he hide how he feels, when he wants to scream out how much he adores Louis! 

People, he’s come to realize, don’t talk like that. He’s never had someone speak to him like Louis has. He really don’t know what the future entails, if Louis will stay, if Louis will be his and his only, but he won’t ponder about that. He’ll wrap himself in these cozy moments, where Louis’ hand is warmed up in his, and his delicate words. They consume him; they fill the parts that were left unfulfilled—every part of him that felt alone and misunderstood.

———

Harry doesn’t say a word. It’s almost eight, and he can feel it. His life will never be the same once he enters those doors, and he needs to prepare himself. Because there’s no way Lottie distracted Louis’ Mum long enough to not call. He can feel it in the way his stomach twists.

Louis’ beside him when he walks to the front door, and neither of them say anything. Harry doesn’t want to. He can’t muster up a conversation—it will either end in a breakdown or being sick. Either way he doesn’t win.

As he pushes open the door, he half-expects his Mum to be waiting for him on the couch, but there’s no sight of her. 

Okay. That’s fine. He can do this.

He steps forward, hears Louis shut the door behind him, and feels his body jump when a loud ring echoes throughout the house. He surges forward so unbelievably quickly, his heart in his throat, as he reaches for the rotary on the wall. He shuts his eyes—can’t will himself to look at Louis—as he presses the telephone to his ear. He tries to steady his breathing, but he can hear it shaky and loud through the bottom of the telephone.

“Hello? Is this the Styles’ residence?”

Harry exhales out of relief at the familiar voice. “Lottie, I thought you were—“

“Oh, Harry,” she quietly, sadly sighs out. “I’m so sorry! I tried! I tried to stop her!”

His heart collapses into his stomach. He can’t form words, and he can’t seem to move his mouth to speak. All he can do is weakly hang up and slowly turn around, his face paled and hands suddenly shaky. It’s hard to find the ability to look up at Louis, and once he does, he sees only defeat and sorrow swimming in his eyes. He looks off to the side, his lower lip now between his teeth, as he worriedly chews at it.

“Harry, Louis—may I speak with you?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Harry swiftly turns his head to his mother in pure panic, feels his eyes go wide in terror. She looks calm but stern as she emerges from the kitchen and moves to sit on the couch. 

Harry’s going to be sick.

He moves quickly and clumsily—nearly trips over his own feet as he follows behind his Mum—but he keeps his mouth shut. So does Louis. They both move to stand in front of her, both of their emotions and hunched shoulder giving away their defeated feelings. 

“Before you say anything, let me explain,” Harry somehow musters out. He clears his throat and tries to appear strong by straightening his back. He can sense Louis’ surprised face. “Life isn’t always what we think it looks like, Mum. It just isn’t. People are different, have different emotions—“

“Uh-uhm!” Another voice loudly interrupts. Gemma nearly jumps down the stares, coughs, and places her hand on her chest. “Sorry! Had to clear my throat! How are you, Louis?” She smiles with wide, crazy eyes, as if she was trying to speak to them through her crazy blinks. “Just had a lovely call! Harry, do you know a Janet? Says she knows you!”

Harry and Louis both gasp and widen their eyes, but are quick to wipe away the surprised look. Harry nods hastily, trying to look nonchalant, but ends up looking the complete opposite. 

“Yes! Janet! From school! Yes!” he loudly says. It sounds so unbelievably exaggerated that he wishes he could slap himself. He glances over at his Mum and laughs. She furrows her brows.

“Is Janet code word for drugs? I thought we talked about this!” Anne says from her seat. She throws a hand up in frustration and shakes her head. “Louis, dear, excuse my children. I wanted to thank you for taking Harry out and taking care of him! You’re such a lovely person—the girls and I just love you,” she says. Harry sighs out of relief and sways in his spot. “We’re excited to see the footage from the dance, as the photograph’s were just lovely! You’ve certainly got an eye for photography!”

Louis’ shoulders ease and he smiles (more out of relief, but Anne can’t tell) with a wave of his hand. “Oh, thank you very much. You’re too kind. I think Harry had a wonderful time in the city. Didn’t you?”

Harry snaps his head over to Louis, who appears so calm and collected. He swears he sees him wink, but that can’t be. Harry’s still got wide eyes from the shock of everything that just took place. “Y-yeah. Lovely time, I—“ he stops abruptly and feels a blush creep up to his cheeks. Really lovely time, he should say. 

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” She stands with a wide smile and walks over to the boys in front of her. “I’m going to head to bed. Got a long day at the bakery tomorrow.” She grasps Harry’s shoulders and leans in to lightly kiss his cheek, and then she moves over to give Louis a hug. 

He’s definitely going to pass out.

“Goodnight!” she says, blows a kiss to Gemma, and then makes her way to her bedroom. 

After the door shuts, Harry instantly rushes over to Gemma to hug her tightly. “Thank you. Thank you so fucking much, holy shit. I owe you. Anything you want, it’s yours.”

Gemma awkwardly laughs and pats his back until Harry releases her. “You certainly do owe me. Can you imagine if Mum picked up? You’re so goddamn lucky!”

“What did she say?” Louis says from behind them. He hadn’t moved a muscle.

Gemma’s eyes almost turn sad. “Sort of a hateful woman, isn’t she? Asked if I was Harry’s Mum, of course, because she had something important to share. You’re all lucky I’m nosy, because I said yes. But then she went on about how she suspects he’s dating her gay son Louis and that she should do whatever it takes to keep you away from him.” Gemma elbows Harry to try and lighten the mood. “So, I obviously told her where to stick it. Don’t think she’ll be calling again.”

Louis laughs. It fills the room and turns the mood around in almost an instant. “Blimey! You’re actually incredible.”

Gemma half-curtsies. “I expect to be rewarded with the entire story of what happened on your trip,” she smugly says, a smile on her face. She turns to Harry and whispers, “did you make-out with him in front of her or something?”

Harry actually giggles, blushes, and feels his stomach flutter again at the mention of kissing Louis. “Gemma,” he half-heartedly whines out. He turns his head to look at Louis, their eyes meeting across the room at the same time.

Gemma sighs beside him and pats his shoulder. “All right, get a room. Stop fucking each other with your eyes,” she mumbles. Harry gasps. “I’m heading upstairs. Bye, Louis,” she says as she spins and stomps her way up.

“Bye, Gemma!” He calls out, eyes leaving Harry to watch Gemma disappear to her room.

Harry bites his lip, looks around the room tediously to make sure they’re actually alone, before he’s flinging himself into Louis’ arms with the widest of smiles. “No one knows,” he quietly says.

Louis laughs underneath his breath and tucks a strand of hair behind Harry’s ear. “No one but Gemma.”

“She won’t tell,” Harry immediately says. “She would never.”

Louis nods, trails his fingers over Harry’s jaw slowly. “I know.” His thumb rests on his chin, rubs slightly, before he’s lifting it up. 

They’re basically the same height (Harry’s almost taller than him), yet he’s lifting his chin for a kiss. Harry, with all of his lack of experience, hastily chases Louis’ mouth with his own and accidentally bumps their noses rather harshly. Louis smiles, tightens his grip on Harry’s chin to keep him still, before ghosting his lips over his. Louis’ breath hits his mouth, their lips nearly grazing—and it’s painful for Louis to draw out the moment before their lips meet—but when they finally do, it’s magical.

Louis’ fingers spread on his chin, now grasping his jaw to hold it in place, and Harry may find that insanely hot. Because Louis’ really kissing him, with so much want that it nearly knocks the air out of his lungs. Somehow his tongue’s found his way in his mouth, and it takes Harry by absolute surprise. It’s a messy kiss—one that feels like they’re almost devouring each other. It’s a sensation Harry’s never felt before, as Louis’ experienced tongue dances over his own, and swipes at his teeth and lips and then back to his own tongue. Harry feels paralyzed, aroused, and God knows what else by the time Louis pulls away for a small gasp of air. He still holds his jaw in place when he swallows thickly (because, yeah, their mouths are wet from exchanging spit, as disgusting at it sounds), before he places his mouth back on Harry’s for the lightest of kisses.

When he pulls back and drops his hand, Harry stands frozen in shock. He only moves his hand to wipe the saliva off his lower lip, before he’s continuing his frozen stance.

“Goodnight, Curly,” Louis cheekily says with a smile. He almost laughs at Harry’s surprised features. “Come to mine tomorrow, yeah?”

All Harry can do is nod in response. Louis smiles widely in amusement and heads for the door, throwing Harry one last look before he officially leaves. 

Harry almost falls over when he turns to run up to his room and lock the door. He just needs a private moment before he showers, is all.


	23. 22.

Harry's definitely hooked, and there's no going back now.

He doesn't remember much from class—only the confused looks Niall and Liam exchanged in the hallway when he grinned and waved at them. The rest was long forgotten, which isn't the best thing now that he thinks about it... But now, the fight Niall and Liam are having with him seems so small. He really should talk to them. He also needs to talk to Jenny and see if she wants to move forward with this fake-dating thing. He doesn't really need it anymore, not when he was using it as a way to shove down his emotions. But if Jenny still wants him to play the part at parties, he gladly will. Anything to make her feel safe.

It's at lunch when he was coming down from his Louis Tomlinson high, and it was only because Zayn dramatically dropped his tray on the table and sat down with narrowed eyes. Harry pauses mid-fish chew, stares back with a brow raised, and then continues chewing with a hard swallow following after.

"All right, mate?" he questions, eyes roaming over his slight angry features. He still looks as handsome as ever, and even more so with his angered expression. 

He can think that now—now that he knows he likes boys—and won't feel bad for doing so. Zayn's a handsome lad.

"All right?" he seethes out. Harry blinks innocently. "Only turned up to yours to discover you ditched me. Remember our lessons?"

Harry's eyes instantly widen, the realization evident on his features. His mouth forms an "oh" and struggles to find the right words. "I didn't mean to! I forgot!"

"I forgot," he mocks immaturely. "You begged me to teach you! You said you were serious!"

Harry sighs and leans forward, his eyes moving away from Zayn. "I am serious. Something just...came up. With Louis. Remember him?" he asks. This time he was the one with narrowed eyes; he knows their history. Zayn just doesn't know that he knows.

Zayn leans back in his chair, hand coming up to scratch the side of his head. "Oh," he mutters, brows thickly drawn in. 

"Yeah. Took me to this place... Coke and Dairy? Clark and Darren?" he teases, head tilting up in thought, before he settles his amused eyes on Zayn's widened ones. "I think it was Cloak and Dagger." 

Zayn sighs slowly, the action moving his shoulders up and down. "I get it," he mutters.

"Met this wonderful guy and told me all about this Kilam bloke. Seems fun and not at all secretive, you know what I mean?" He goes on, just to see how far he can push Zayn's buttons.

"Oi, I said I get it. Stop, would you?" he says with a shake of his head. He presses his elbows to the table and stares at Harry with an unreadable expression. "So you know?"

Harry nods, a cheeky smile spreading over his face. He pops a chip into his mouth. "I know."

"Everything?" he asks, his leg shaking up and down as if the topic made him nervous.

Harry's cheeky facade falters, and he finds the smile slowly leaving his face. "Yeah, I think so. Louis told me everything that involved him—only mentioned you two were best mates. Which, all right, lie of the decade, eh? You two know how to keep it on the low," he grumbles out.

"You said Jem told you about me," Zayn spoke, voice teetering more toward nervousness now. 

Harry's brow furrows. "No, I was just yanking your chain. I carved my nickname beside yours!" he happily says, his smile wide and bright. Zayn searches his face, and his lips twitch into an almost smile. It's a start.

"Congrats," he mutters. He looks down at the table and taps his fingertips against it. "Really, I mean it. It's...hard. Um. Yeah. Glad Louis took you there. Jem's lovely."

Harry nods eagerly—he's just happy to voice it to someone. "He really is! I've never met anyone like him!"

"Oh," a voice mumbles beside them.

Harry looks up to find Liam glancing between the two, his face holding one of confusion, before he settles them on Harry. 

"Hey, Harry," he quietly says. He clears his throat and looks over at Zayn. "Zayn, right? Remember me?"

"Yeah," Zayn says with a nod. He extends his hand out to shake Liam's, and it's a firm, tight one that only moves down once. "You're in my A level English class, right?"

Liam nods rather quickly. "Yeah. Yeah, that's right," he quietly says. Harry quirks a brow. "How are you two?"

"Good, yeah," Zayn replies. He thumbs at a spot on his eyebrow, turns to Harry with a haste smile, and goes to stand. "I'll see you?" he says, to which Harry nods as a reply. He scoots his chair in, grabs his tray, and pauses in front of Liam. "See ya in class, mate."

Liam smiles as a response and turns slightly to watch Zayn walk away. A few moments pass before he's turning to face Harry with a strange look on his face. Without saying a word, he sits down across from him and keeps his eyes down, his movements slow and careful. Harry could tell he was thinking hard about something, but he couldn't tell what it was just yet. They hadn't spoken in quite a while, after all.

"Are we done fighting yet?" Harry blurts out, his eyes set on Liam determinedly. He does want his best mates back, but he's not ready to tell them. He's still horrified to confess something that isn't socially acceptable; he wishes the world was like Jem's bar.

Liam finally looks up at him, dark eyes meeting green, and the unreadable look invades the pools of his eyes as well. It nearly startles Harry. "I want to be," Liam quietly confesses. He sighs, the odd look wiping away with a shake of his head, as Normal Liam suddenly makes an appearance. "When you're able to actually trust us."

"Oh, bullshit, Liam. You know I trust you guys. You're being childish, mate," he huffs out, his back hitting his chair. He's just tired of not saying enough. "People keep things to themselves. So what if I kept this Jenny thing on the down-low? I wasn't the one that turned my back on my best friends because of it. You did. Niall did. How do you think I feel?"

Liam scratches his head out of frustration and waves his hand dramatically around. "I don't know how it all spun so out of control!" he nearly shouts out. Harry raises his brows in shock. "I didn't even—fuck—like, what happened? All I hear is Niall complaining, and then you're left out and sad looking, and then today you looked like you were walking on clouds, so Niall got all pissed again, and then started complaining even more, and—" he breathes deeply, musses his hair wildly, and looks at him with wide eyes. "I can't take it! I can't! Fight over! Truce!"

Niall slams his tray down on the table dramatically (Harry didn't even see him come by), the noise echoing throughout the lunchroom. His cheeks are tinted with an angry red, and his brows are tightly pinched together.

"Who says!" Niall practically yells at Liam, his palms pressing flat against the table as he hunches over it. "I'm not your dog, Liam, stop spreading all my shit around if you're not going to rub my nose in it."

Harry's brows instantly furrow in confusion. "What the fuck are you on about, Niall?"

Niall stammers, shrugs, looks at Harry with a lost look set on his face. "Like a dog, right? When they shite everywhere, you rub their nose—ah, fuck, that's piss, innit? Damn, I'm all turned around." He shakes his head and turns back to look at Liam. "My point is, don't talk about me if you can't say it to my face first."

Harry and Liam both nod.

"Should've just gone with that first, mate," Liam softly adds.

Niall abruptly slaps the table. "We're moving past my shit analogy! Fuck's sake!"

Harry can't help but crack a smile. "Should we, like, toss it in the toilet? Flush it down? The analogy might have been literal shit, you know." 

Liam snorts. Niall's face turns even more red. "I'm going to—"

"Poo? Do you need the loo, mate?" Liam interjects

"Holy shi—" he cuts himself off, but Harry and Liam both laugh anyway. He breathes heavily through his nose, ignoring the two boys who are now clutching their stomachs, before he pulls out the chair in front of him and sits down. "I'll wait."

"Don't do that," Harry says as he wipes the tears from his eyes from laughing so hard. "You'll get constipated!" he cries out with laughter, which only brings more tears forward.

Liam snorts and almost falls out of his chair.

It takes far too long before Niall's smiling, and much longer before he's laughing himself. Their laughter continues the more they exchange glances and it's somehow known that they're thinking about the jokes, but are unable to make new ones due to their barking laughter. 

Harry's the first to calm down, wipe his eyes, and gather his thoughts. "Are we okay?" he asks, and in that instance, the humor surrounding them evaporates.

Niall looks over at Liam, and Liam looks at Niall. They discuss something with their eyes and hard gazes; Niall finally turns his head to give Harry a slow nod in defeat.

"I wasn't trying to be a prat," he says with a shrug. "I normally don't care what you guys do, but I just felt like you hated me, Harry."

Harry frowns and looks down with a huff. "I'm sorry. Like, genuinely. I never meant to be that way." It's all he can say. It's the truth, but he can't add much else to it. He can't talk about how he was trying to figure out if he likes boys, and that he couldn't stand being around his friends because of the conflict it was causing within himself. 

"We should all have a triple-date!" Liam cheerfully says, a smile tugging at his lips.

Harry shifts uncomfortably.

"Yeah!" Niall nods in sync with Liam, both of them turning to see what Harry thinks.

Harry forces a quick smile. He didn't want to continue lying to them, and forcing Jenny to go out with all of them would only make things worse. "Uh, I'll have to talk to Jenny," he says instead.

"All right. Just let us know," Liam says.

Harry stands and nods, still forcing a smile. "You got it."

———

Butterflies flap around in his stomach the moment he sees Louis' house. They're ones of excitement (maybe from the nerves, too) that make him feel slightly lightheaded in the most wonderful way. He tries to refrain from running down his drive and to the front door, because he didn't want to mess up his hair too much. He spent a lot of time trying to protect it from the harsh wind.

Once he does approach the door, he doesn't let a moment pass before he's knocking excitedly. He takes a half-step back, puts his hands behind his back, and sways on his heels impatiently. He bites the center of his lower lip anxiously and almost gets ready to knock once more before the door is opened.

And Harry's words leave him.

Because Louis' so damn beautiful.

He's wearing a tan, striped shirt with a brown collar, green (motherfucking green!) trousers, and brown boots. The top is fitted on him and doesn't hold a loose piece of fabric anywhere. Harry almost drools. His hair is even perfectly done in a way Harry's never seen him wear—it's actually combed up in the front and it waves out to frame the structure of his face. Louis Tomlinson is going to be the death of him, he decides.

"Hello, Curly," Louis softly says, his warm smile greeting him.

Harry's blushing for some reason. He smiles back, hugs his own body, and has to look away before the overwhelming attraction he has for Louis makes him do something stupid. "Is that my new nickname you're sticking with?" he asks, head tilting at the ground. He's still grinning.

"Yeah," Louis says. "I like it better."

Harry nods and agrees with him, fingers absentmindedly fiddling with one another. In a brave second he finally looks up, and those dumb overwhelming emotions get to the better of him. He steps forward and throws his arms around Louis' shoulder, knocking him inside, and instantly pressing his mouth to his. 

He hears the door shut behind him and just assumed Louis reached out to close it, thankfully. Because Louis then proceeds to back him against the door, and, yeah, he likes kissing him like this. With their bodies pressed so closely together as if they can't get enough of each other, and Louis' soft lips caressing his own, and with his hands roaming from his hips up to his cheeks. Harry likes this very much. There's that strikingly familiar peppermint taste that accompanies Louis' mouth, and he can't help but think he's just brushed his teeth before his arrival. How considerate.

It's still slightly unbelievable that he gets to do this with Louis. It's no longer a thought he has to be ashamed of, or one he can't act on. Louis' smooth-as-silk lips are his to kiss whenever he pleases—it's very dream-like.

This kiss is soft and sweet, with bumping noses and gentle sucking of lips, and nothing like last night's hot, tongue-y one. Harry pulls back with a giggle suddenly, thinking back to that kiss, and how messy it was. It definitely worked him up, so he didn't have a problem with it, but still. The thought made him stupidly laugh and pull away from Louis' addictive mouth.

"Is kissing me funny now?" he questions, eyes glancing between Harry's lips and eyes. 

Harry licks his lips and then purses them. "Just thinking about last night. How you kissed me," he mutters with a shrug. Louis' hands find Harry's hips again, his fingers gently squeezing at the skin through his top. He's starting to feel a little overwhelmed from all the physical attention; he's not used to it.

"What about it?" he asks, brows beginning to furrow with genuine confusion. His eyes seem to wander, as if he was trying to think back to the kiss. "I quite liked it."

"Oh," Harry says, face turning red as he nodded quickly. "Me, too. Definitely. Really liked it, like. Really." Louis' brows then raise with interest, a suggestive smile dancing over his lips. Harry's face feels hotter. "Um. Yeah. I dunno why it made me laugh," he says with a shake of his head. "Are you hungry? I'm hungry. Could go for a snack."

It's Louis' turn to laugh, and it's a breathy, light one. His hands drop from Harry's waist and he flicks his head toward the hallway before he's walking away. Harry adjusts his bag over his shoulder (because, yeah, he still has his school bag on. Didn't exactly have time to take it off, did he?) and follows after him to the kitchen. 

"What're you in the mood for? Crisps? Biscuits?" Louis asks as he rummages through his cabinets to pull out the options at hand.

Harry sits on a stool at the island, places his bag on the ground, and contemplates his options carefully, before saying, "Crisps. Craving something salty."

"Aren't we all," Louis mutters. 

Harry shrugs once Louis turns around with a bag of potato crisps in his hand, accepting them with a thankful smile. "I mean, I guess?" he says with a tilt of his head. He opens the bag and pauses when Louis laughs. "What?"

Louis shakes his head and waves the air, only to cover his mouth to try and stop his laughter. Harry suspiciously watches him and pops a crisp into his mouth.

"I made a—Harry, you're just..." he pauses and tries to stop smiling, but he can't seem to. Louis looks at Harry and shrugs. "I'll try to preserve you, darling, sorry. You can't know my jokes yet."

Harry inhales and shifts on his seat, his eyes slightly narrowing as he tries to read his face. He's lost, admittedly so, and doesn't know how to question Louis about what he meant. What did he mean by preserving him? He tries to give it a good, long thought, but Louis did call him darling, and that's all it takes to fog his thoughts up. 

"Whatever," he mutters as he munches on the crisps; he tries to appear annoyed, but he can't really. Louis' just got that way about him, especially when he calls him cute names.

"What!" He laughs out, taking in the faux-annoyed Harry in front of him. "You want to know the joke?"

"How was that a joke!" Harry says back, hand holding up a crisp as he gestured to Louis. Louis reaches out and grasps his wrist with his frustratingly cute, amused face, before he's taking the potato crisp right out of his fingers and eating it himself. Harry shakes his head.

"Do you want to know?" Louis asks, swallowing, and then leaning his elbows on the counter. 

"Yeah," Harry decides, mimicking Louis' movements as he shoves the crisps out of the way. "I would, actually. Darling." 

"Oh-hoh," Louis laughs out. "All right, then. You asked." He pauses, let's his eyes travel over Harry's face, and then he nods once at himself. "Right. You said you were craving something salty, I said we all were. I was referring to... God, it's not funny now that I have to explain me-self, but whatever. Come, Harry. Like, semen. It's usually salty in taste."

Harry's mouth parts—he can feel the air dry out his mouth—as he stares back in shock. He suddenly clears his throat and nods, his face and neck unbelievably hot as he shrugs casually. He's trying to fight through the embarrassment and appear nonchalant, but it's quite a feat. He's surprised, is all. Still very embarrassed. Of course, Louis knows he isn't exactly familiar with these kinds of things. He's still learning and becoming used to things as time passes (it's only been a bloody day since they confessed their true selves!), so he'll get there. He'll eventually learn all the dick jokes, right?

"Okay," he replies. It's the only word he can really form to say. Louis reaches across the counter and covers his hand over Harry's to squeeze at. Now he's embarrassed Louis' trying to comfort him over a dick joke.

"Sorry, love. Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he says with another squeeze to his hand.

Harry shakes his head. "Not uncomfortable. Just...embarrassed. Whatever. It's fine. Can I do my homework here?" he asks, trying to change the subject.

Louis nods and strands up straight, his hands sliding away from Harry to rest at his side. "Yeah, sure. Want anything to drink?"

Harry nods. "Water?" he sweetly asks with a smile. Louis rolls his eyes and turns to fetch him water, whilst Harry steps off the stool, grabs his bag, and then makes his way into the living room. 

The large coffee table looks good sitting on his new rug, so he decides to sit on the shaggy, blue carpeting and make himself comfortable on the floor. He sits the bag beside him, opens it up, and starts pulling out the book he has to read for English. He also has to write a chapter summary, which is actually the worst and most boring thing in the world, but he'll just have to get over that.

"Your water," Louis says once he emerges from the kitchen and places the glass on the table. "Wouldn't sitting at the dining table be more comfortable?"

Harry shrugs and searches for his bookmarked spot in his book. "I like your windows in here. It makes it bright and, like, easier to study. I dunno. I just feel better studying here."

Louis plops down on the sofa behind him and sighs. "All right. What if I'm a distraction, though?"

"You won't be," he says with a shrug.

Louis scoffs. "Sparks everywhere. You're so into me, huh?"

Harry laughs at how ridiculous he's being and finds himself tilting his body to look back at Louis. "What do you mean?"

Louis—who's laying down on the couch—rolls on his side and props his head up by his hand. "Just admitted we like each other, and you've already had enough of me. My beauty no longer has a hold over you."

Harry wants to laugh. "Louis, you can't be serious."

He rolls onto his back and places his head on the sofa dramatically, feigning hurt. "Not even Lou? Just Louis? Our first date has yet to come, and the cutest nicknames are already done for!"

Harry finally laughs when he fully turns around, still sitting on the floor, as he watches Louis throw his arm over his face. He really is dramatic. He waits patiently for Louis to act his age and stop throwing this fake fit, and when he finally peers over his arm, he's met with a timid Harry staring over at him.

"What now?" he asks, his arm resting at his side.

"I was just looking at you," he says with a shrug. "'Cause your beauty has such a hold over me," he smiles out. Louis laughs. "And because...a first date?"

Louis' face softens and, really, it also softens Harry's heart. His hand comes up to brush through his hair, thumb swiping across Harry's cheek as he goes to swipe his knuckles over his jaw. Harry's heart is fluttering over these simple touches; it's so wonderful. He's wonderful. 

"Yeah, a first date. I'm taking you out soon, of course."

Harry places his hand over Louis' when he feels him starting to retract it. He's pathetic. He's never been touched like this before, Louis being the only one to, so he'd like to revel in these moments—really soak them up; he can't get enough of them. 

"Where?" Harry asks, head tilting into his palm. He lowers his hand to clasp his over his wrist instead, holding it tightly. It reminds him of just a few nights ago, where he was so weighed down by his thoughts and, what felt like, loneliness.

"I can't say," he replies. He pulls his hand away to sit up, and maybe Harry tries not to pout at the loss of touch. "But it's gonna be the bomb."

Harry laughs and gets up to sit on the couch beside him; maybe he can ease it out of him by being overly sweet. So, he latches himself to Louis' side and wraps an arm around his stomach, his head laying on his shoulder, and fuck, he's already the clingy type. He never thought he'd be like that. "When will this be?"

"It's all a surprise, Harry," Louis says. 

So, he's sticking to his guns. Harry looks up at him and brings his other hand up to sweep through his made-up hair, fingers tucking the longest bits behind his ear. Slowly, he attracts more focus to his ear; at first, just lightly rubbing his pointer finger over the edge from top to bottom. Then, his thumb starts to just barely rub the lobe.

"I need to know how to properly dress. I could show up in a swim shorts," he softly says—and, fuck—who is he? When did he become this person? The kind of guy to use soft touches and sweet voices to get what he wants? Sure, he's never been with anyone he likes before, but this is all just surprising him. 

Louis shakily breathes and relaxes his shoulders more; his eyes start to blink quickly at his touch. "Why would you—" he inhales sharply when Harry's thumbnail slightly digs into his skin. "—wear a swimsuit? In November?"

Harry purses his lips and pauses his movements. Louis starts to steady his breathing, which is a sign that he's going to go back to thinking clearly. And, no, that won't do. He wants something. It's his first date! Louis' going to take him out! He needs to be fully prepared! So, with a little bit of shame, he moves his right hand behind his neck to steady his head as he tilts up, up, up—until he mouths at his ear. He's a terrible person to use this tactic to ease information out, but whatever works.

"Can you at least tell me how to dress? Please?" he whispers, mouth brushing against his ear throughout every word spoken. Without missing a beat, he takes the lobe between his teeth to lightly nip at. Louis practically gasps beside him.

"I should've never told you about the ear thing," he breathes out. "You're evil."

Harry laughs and has to pull away, but as he's going back in to tease him more, Louis manages to remove himself from Harry and tackle him to the couch. He gasps and widens his eyes, now lying on his back, as Louis cackles from above him.

"You're sneaky, but I've got more tricks, love," he cheekily smiles out. It's quick when he ducks down to suck at his skin at the base of his neck. 

Harry doesn't quite know how to reply, is too paralyzed with Louis' lips on him, so he shuts his eyes and allows to be so surrounded by him. It's weird being so flirty with someone, and for things to feel so wonderful so quickly. He felt like he's lived with, what he thought was disgusting thoughts, for years. And maybe it has been years and he just never knew. He never realized his unattraction for girls equaled to his attraction to boys. Louis somehow woke up the realest part in him, and in this moment, he's never felt more alive as Louis sucks and bites at his skin hotly. 

Maybe they can be stars together. Just maybe. Even if it absolutely has to be in the darkness, at least they'll have each other.


	24. 23.

After trying to study at Louis' house (emphasis on trying), he made his way home rather elated. As usual. Once he spent time with the boy he likes (that he can kiss now!), things were becoming a little more wonderful. The walk in the cold air may have numbed his cheeks, but he was still warmer than a hot summer day. The feeling of having someone he can physically touch and hug and kiss, after not having that in his life before, makes him feel like everything will be okay. Even if his dad never likes him, even if his parents might have an ugly divorce...maybe everything will be all right.

He's smiling when he makes it upstairs and to his room, but jumps back out of surprise when Gemma flings her door open and drags him in her room by the straps of his bag. He stares at her with wide eyes, watches as she shuts her door, and then moves in front of him with her hands on her hips. Her hair is waved around her face and falls straight to her shoulders, and a paisley, pink shirt tucks into high-waisted pants that resemble a deep plum color. She looks really pretty.

"Harry," she breathlessly starts. "You fucking twat!"

Harry's brows furrow and he shifts on his feet. "Okay?"

"You didn't tell me. After I covered your ass, you never told me a bloody thing!" she exclaims, obviously frustrated. "I thought we hated Louis, but apparently you're into him again? Like, what the fuck? And what the fuck is up with his Mum?"

Harry suddenly realizes. He didn't tell Gemma what happened—all she remembers is him crying to her about him and how he thought he liked boys. She missed a lot in a day. "Right, sit down, then," he says, shouldering his back off. "This will take a while."

———

"Well, you've done it, Harry. You've officially taken the last good guy on the planet," she sighs out. She flings herself back on her bed and stares up at the ceiling. "I'm happy for you. I'm glad you can be with someone, but I'm also worried. Like, Mum—"

"I don't want to think about that," he quietly says, his arms wrapping around his stomach as a sickly feeling encompasses him. "I'm happy right now. And he said he's taking me on a date, Gem. I'm so, like, warm around him. It sounds stupid, but I feel it in my chest. I'm so fucking happy that I sound crazy."

Gemma sighs and sits back up. "I've never had that," she softly says, her shoulders sinking. He looks at her through worried eyes. "I think I should break up with Steve."

Harry watches her carefully. She seems sad as she speaks, but he's not sure if it's about possibly breaking up with someone, or something else entirely. "If you're considering breaking up, then he isn't the one," he simply says.

"The one," she laughs out bitterly. "That isn't a thing. Not with me, at least," she sadly adds.

Harry frowns and shakes his head. "Yes, it is. Especially for you. You're the most deserving," he spoke, but it's evident that his words have no effect on her. She only turns her head away from him.

"Harry, it's okay. Some people don't get one." She abruptly stands and moves over to her mirror with all her trinkets on the stand. She sits down at it and grabs her hair brush. "I'll just break up with Steve and try to figure out what to do with my life. I can't work at the bakery forever."

Harry moves to lay on his stomach on her bed, watching her carefully brush through her hair. He sighs deeply and wishes to reach out to Gemma, but even though she's sitting right in front of him, she's the farthest she's ever been. Something's deeply wrong, he realizes. With Steve, maybe. Maybe it's just Gemma, but something with Steve is making her believe true love is a sham. What did he do to her? Maybe he's just lame and she's never felt that spark with him; when he spoke to Steve last time, he didn't seem like too bad of a guy. It's just all confusing when she doesn't speak about it. How can he help if she won't talk to him?

"Let me be here for you," he quietly says. She continues to brush her hair. "If you want to dump this airhead, I'll be here. It you want to pop his tires, I'll drive the getaway car. Or if you want to light his shit on fire—I've got some experience there." A laugh escapes her mouth, and a hopeful smile appears on Harry's lips. 

"You weren't very successful in the last one," she smiles out.

Harry shrugs. "Dad's stuff is gone. I'd consider that a win."

Her laughter fills the room and she turns around in her chair to look at him. "I'll be fine, Harry. You have Louis now, so don't worry about me. Focus on your relationship."

"Relationship," he echoes with a shake of his head. He rolls onto his back and dreamily stares up at her ceiling. "Have I told you how soft his lips are? And how his mouth always tastes like peppermint?"

Gemma rolls her eyes. "I don't want to know about what his mouth tastes like," she says with a look of disgust on her face. "Are you working tomorrow?"

Harry sits up and nods. "Yeah, from nine to three, I think."

"There's a party tomorrow night. I'm sure Jenny's told you, but we'll all be there. Invite Louis. Everyone really liked him last time—oh, it makes sense now! Why Zayn and Louis appeared so close! God, that's weird. All the secrets."

"For a reason," Harry defends. He stands up after retrieving his bag from the floor and contemplates her invitation. "Maybe we'll come by. I'll ask him." He starts to walk away, but feels himself stop. He widens his eyes. "I haven't told Jenny. Fuck, I need to tell her."

"Yeah," is all Gemma says.

He huffs and leaves her room at once, shuts the door, and heads to his room across the hall. He hasn't talked to Jenny in the longest time—she hasn't called him to ask about which parties to attend, which was actually common for her. She also hasn't unexpectedly popped by to run her uni assignments by him. She used that as an excuse to read poetry—they both enjoyed hearing the words of popular writers speak about what they're feeling through rhythmic words and gentle phrases. Harry thought of it as music, in a sense, so he really enjoyed her weekly poetry sessions. 

His guilt was starting to get to the better of him. He wanted to speak to Jenny immediately, so without much thought, he made for the telephone downstairs to give her a ring. He dialed her number from memory once he pulled the phone off, and leaned patiently against the wall for an answer. 

"Hello?" a deeper voice asked from the other end.

"Hi, I'm calling to talk to Jenny. This is Harry," he nicely spoke.

"Jenny!" the person shouts; there's some muffled words Harry can't quite decipher, and just moments later, he's greeted with her familiar voice.

"Harry, darling, how are you? It's getting late—why are you calling?" she asks.

"M'fine, thanks. I was wondering if you could come 'round for a moment. Or I can head to yours if that's okay—I just need to talk to you."

She pauses. "Uh, okay. I can come to yours. It's hectic tonight—Mum's got her girls over, so typically, they're drunk and listening to The Platters."

Harry laughs. "That sounds fun," he says with a smile.

"Just wait until Chuck Berry comes on. No one wants to see my parents attempt to jive at their age to Johnny B. Goode. Trust me."

"I don't know, that would be entertaining," he says with a smile. 

They exchange other light talk about her embarrassing parents, until they both said their good-bye's and agreed upon a time to meet. It wouldn't take long for her to drive over in this small town, so he hurried over to the kitchen to put a kettle on the stove. His mind filled with worrisome thoughts about where he wanted the conversation to go—either way, he has to tell her something. It's obvious she somewhat knows, which blows Harry's mind. Not even he knew. But even if he can't exactly tell her, he needs to break off this fake relationship. It's only what's best.

The whistling of the kettle tore him away from his thoughts, so he was quick to take it off the stove and make their tea before Jenny arrived. He tried to remember how she liked it, but can't exactly recall if she preferred milk over sugar. He, instead, went for both, because he prefers both. And just in time, too—headlights reflected through the small kitchen window that signaled Jenny's quick arrival. He grabbed the teacup handles and steadily carried them to the living room to place on the small table there, and at just the right time, there's a knock at the door.

"Coming!" he says with a slight jog in his step as he heads over to the door. When he opens it, he's greeted by a smiling Jenny. 

She's sporting a leather, brown jacket, a white top with a rainbow on it, and simple bluejeans. She, of course, makes it look as if it's the most stylish outfit ever. Before Harry can compliment the outfit, shes flung her arms around him in a suffocating hug. Her hair pokes and covers his face, but he just laughs it off and squeezes her back as tightly as possible. 

"You haven't tried to call," is all she says. 

Harry gives her another squeeze.

"I'm sorry," he sincerely says. "So much has...happened," he mutters to her. She pulls away to examine his face, her brows tugging together, and a perplexed look casting over her features. He clears his throat and motions back to the tea. "Want some tea? Just made it," he says with a smile. The open door behind her sends a chill down Harry's back; she must have noticed his shiver, because she instantly goes to close the door.

"Yeah, I'll have some. No sugar, right?"

Harry clears his throat and sits down on the couch with his tea in hand, shrugging slightly, and watching carefully as she grabbed the other cup to sip out of. She sipped it and gave him a look.

"Don't know how I take my tea? Do you know me at all?" she jokingly says, moving to sit beside him. "It's not bad, actually. A tad too sweet, but not bad."

"Sorry, I'll remember next time," he says. He sat quietly and drank his hot tea, letting it soothe his nerves, and to give him something to do. It's awfully quiet between them—Harry realizes he has to be the one to initiate things. He's the one that called her over. "So, I think I should just say it," he quietly starts.

"Oh. Skip the pleasantries, I guess." She sniffs and sets her teacup down on the table in front of them. "Go on."

Harry sighs. "It's not that, I just don't want to keep you. It's already late, and—and I just—"

"I was only joking, Harry," she says with a smile. She lightly punches his shoulder. "Lighten up, will you? What's got you so tensed up? And, hey, did you ever see Louis that one night? You never fucking called, ya knob!"

Harry parts his lips and tries to think about his words. "Uh, yeah? Um. Yeah, yeah. I went over. Yeah."

"'Yeah, yeah'—fuck, Harry, get on with it! Did you snog yet?"

Harry instantly freezes and unintentionally leans back into the couch, conveniently moving further away from her. If she knows, what if she can't keep it a secret? What if she lets it slip and it spreads all around town? He can't run Louis off, not when he's just got him. Only Gemma can know. Jenny can't.

"Harry, please. Wipe the worried look off your face, I'm not saying a thing. I know you have feelings for him. Hell, you couldn't stop blubbering about him at your friend's party. Do you not remember that either?" 

Harry stares at her in shock, and slowly, he shakes his head. He truly doesn't. And how does she know? Did everyone know but him? "I didn't...uh..."

She leans forward and grabs his hand to hold, her fingers cold against his clammy ones, but she squeezes his hand nonetheless with a smile. "I've been waiting. I initially thought about fake dating you to help you out, you know, but then that night... Uh, those fuckers happened, and I was so pissed and unhappy that I used it as a way to help me out, too. I just wanted to be there for you—you're so kind, Harry. You're so caring. I couldn't stand to see you upset with yourself all the time."

He sighs and flings his head back on the couch. She knows. There's now way around it now, no way to lie about it—he has to come clean. "Yeah," he starts, voice soft. "He drove me to London and I met his family. It all happened so quickly, Jen, like... I don't know. I like him, yeah. He likes me. It just kind of happened."

Her arms were around him once more, and he felt so relieved and happy that he couldn't help but smile and hug her back. 

"That's wonderful, Harry. I'm so happy for you!" She pulls away with a smile and then kisses his cheek abruptly. Harry scrunches his nose at the action. "And now you want to ask if we can break off this fake relationship," she says with a more serious tone. "Which, of course, yeah. I want you to do what's best for you."

"Oh, thank you, Jenny," he says with relief. He hunches his shoulders and exhales loudly. "And no one can know, okay? Only Gemma knows. That's it. No one can know."

"Okay," she says defensively, with her hands raised. "Fine. Won't tell anyone, I swear."

———

It was one of those mornings where time slowed and nothing exciting happened. The morning rush was slow, not as many people stopped by, and Harry finished his homework within the first hour of his shift. Usually work keeps him busy and entertained, but with it being such a slow day, it's become impossible. He's on his third cup of tea now and really needs to use the bathroom, but an elderly woman was currently inspecting the breakfast pastries. He swears she's been looking at them for five minutes.

"And the blueberry muffins are fresh?" she asks, her large glasses drooping down the bridge of her nose. They made her eyes appear two times the normal size behind the bifocals. 

"Yes, ma'am. Brought them out of the oven about ten minutes ago," he blandly replies. He crosses his legs with a sigh.

"All right. I'll have two, then. Oh, you know what I've just remembered? Richard likes a raspberry muffin. Won't eat a blueberry. You see, as a boy, he picked blueberries fresh every day for—"

Harry nods. "Yes, ma'am. We don't have raspberry. We have strawberry, blueberry, chocolate, and mixed berry." He doesn't mean to be so short with the poor lady, but he really has to pee. 

"Chocolate, blueberry, strawberry, and... I'm sorry, dear, what was the last one?" she slowly asks.

Harry inhales deeply. "Mixed berry."

She nods at his words. "Mixed berry... Does it have blueberries? Poor Richard, won't go near a blueberry. Did I tell you he picked them everyday as a child? For almost ten years! He can't stand a blueberry."

Harry actually groans. He can't stand it anymore. "Strawberry it is," he says with a forced smile. He pulls the muffins out of the casing and into a bag, hands them over to her, and forces another smile. "On the house." He really doesn't want to see how long it'll take for her to fish out the money for two muffins.

"Oh, dear! Darling boy! So kind, you are! So lovely!" she happily says. She reaches over to pinch his cheek and then soothe it over with a pat of her hand.

He huffs unhappily, but still plasters the fake smile on his lips when she turns to leave. He instantly widens his eyes when he spots Louis at a table with a very amused smile on his lips, and—what? When did he come into the bakery?

"Can I have a blueberry muffin?" he asks, voice light and humorous. "Never picked a blueberry bush, but I quite like blueberry muffins."

"Louis," Harry softly says. He stares with a genuine smile, happy to unexpectedly see him, but then he frowns. "I'll be right back," he mutters before scurrying off to the bathroom. He can't stand to hold it anymore.

———

"Too much tea?" Louis asks once Harry emerges from the bathroom.

"It's been so boring today," he says with a slight pout. He pulls out the chair beside Louis and sits down with a long sigh. He wants to lean over and kiss his cheek, but knows he can't. He instead keeps his gaze down, and tries to not let it get to him.

"Who says I didn't want to order something? The blueberry muffins really do sound good. She kept saying the word blueberry. Made me want some."

Harry chuckles and watches with a full heart as Louis sneaks a hand over to pinch lightly at his outer thigh. It's a small touch, but it still ignites so much desire and adoration within the simple gesture. Its meaning is something else entirely, one that implies that this is going to be their version of hand-holding in the public eye. Gentle pokes and flirty touches that go under the radar will be a language of their own. And it's enough for Harry.

"Want me to fetch you one?" Harry asks in a sweet voice. He'd really never heard of this sweet voice until Louis entered his life, if he's being honest.

Louis, with his smiley face and kind eyes, shakes his head and props his elbows on the table. With his knuckles tucked underneath his chin, he goes from a purely majestic creature to a mischievous minx in under a second. The way his eyes switch to a cloudy blue and his lips press together leave Harry feeling a little winded from the sudden change of physique. In one fluid motion Louis' hand extends and his fingers dance through his hair to tuck a curly strand behind his ear. And, really, that's all it takes for Harry to blush (annoyingly so).

"What are you thinking about?" Harry softly asks. It's still overwhelming to receive attention from someone he likes so much.

"When's your shift up?" Louis asks instead, his eyes still cloudy with mischievousness. 

Harry purses his lips and glances to the clock on the opposing wall, his eyes slightly squinting to read the time. "At three." He looks back at Louis with a confused, tilted head. "Why?"

Louis leans back in his chair and directs his eyes down towards the newspaper at the table uninterestedly. "Just wondering. Five hours is a bit long, huh?"

Harry shakes his head, shrugs, and looks around the empty bakery with a sigh. "I guess. Not too bad—I've got reading to catch up on."

Louis follows Harry's movements, scans the bakery with sudden interest, and a certain smile spreads over his face. Harry knows he's up to no good now.

"Coffee?" Louis asks.

Harry blinks quickly. What is going on in his head? What are all these secretive looks about? Through his confusion, he nods slowly and stands from the table to start a pot of coffee for Louis. He doesn't question him when he stands along with him, and moves to follow him to the back kitchen where the coffee machine is. Words aren't exchanged through this small journey for coffee, and it's quite telling why Louis was being so strange when he grabs Harry by the back of his apron and gives him a forceful tug. The moment Harry turns, silky lips are met with his surprised, unready ones. Louis' fingers gently push at his shoulders until his backside hits the counter behind, and fingers soon travel their way down Harry's back to his thighs with very light, barely-there touches. It shoots a pleasurable shiver down his back.

"Up," Louis says against his mouth.

Harry scrunches his brows together and pulls away from his lips with a breathy pant. "Up?"

Louis looks at him with amusement encapsulating the entirety of his face. His hand extends behind Harry with a bitten smile, and he hears the pat of his hand hitting the counter. Harry mutters a white "oh," and instantly presses his palms against the countertop to pull himself onto it. But, with his lack of grace, he manages to thump the back of his head against a cabinet.

"You're such a nerd," Louis mumbles with a laugh catching at the end. His fingers tuck under Harry's knees to pull him closer to the edge (he tries not to squeak from surprise), and then guide them to wrap around his back. 

Harry's face is absolutely burning. He doesn't want to imagine how red he is in this moment.

He's unbelievably turned on—at ten in the bloody morning—because he's never been touched like this. Never been grabbed at and moved around by experienced hands that know what's most comfortable and hot at the same time. Louis' lips are on his the second he's adjusted himself; Harry's hands naturally grip into Louis' feathery hair to give his hands something to do, all while Louis' hands rub from his lower back to his thighs in gentle patterns.

He should be better at hiding his surprises emotions at this point, but an unintentional moan manages to tumble past his lips when Louis' fingers lightly press into the lowest part of his back. It seems to have taken Louis by surprise, too, because the rhythmic, unwavering mouth on his pauses for a brief second. Harry's almost worried he's done something wrong, but his thoughts leave him when the sharp feeling scrapes at his back once more, this time much more intentional. He has to pull away from Louis' mouth completely, his hands falling to wrap around the back of his neck, as he slightly arches into Louis with a strange trace of pleasure.

Louis' eyes are on him the entire time with a glint in them. "Interesting," he quietly mutters.

"Harry, the fuck are ya, mate?" a certain Irish voice rings out.

Harry's eyes go wide, and in no time, Louis' helping him off the counter. They step away from each other and, with a heavily pounding heart, he reaches for the coffee pot manically. 

Niall walks in only a second later.

"Harry, Louis!" he happily says, grinning widely at the boys. "What ya making back here?"

Harry blinks quickly and clears his throat. "Uh... Um..." 

"Coffee," Louis interjects. He smiles confidently at Niall and brushes his hand through his hair in the most natural way, but really, he was fixing the mussed up bits from Harry's tugging that took place only moments earlier. "Asked if he could make me a cup, and the nice lad's going out of his way to!"

Niall nods and sniffs around, already seeming bored with the conversation at hand, and absolutely oblivious to their flushed faces, swollen lips, and messed up shirts. "Right, right. Well, when you're done, I want three chocolate muffins."

"All right," Harry says with a sigh of relief. He's awkwardly gripping the pot tightly, but can't seem to move. "Bringing some home to the family?"

Niall looks at Harry as if he just cursed his name. "Absolutely not."

Harry only shakes his head and is finally able to move to the faucet next to them. He fills the pot with water and casually shrugs. "Was only asking, don't get so offended."

"I'm not," Niall grumbles out. "I'm just hungry."

"Me too," Louis speaks up. "But for a blueberry muffin."

Harry rolls his eyes. "You two—" he gestures between the two. "—out."

Niall scoffs and looks at Louis. "When did he become so bossy?"

Louis tsk's and shakes his head, walking beside Niall as they both slowly exit the room together. "No idea."

———

The rest of the work shift for Harry dragged on. All he could think about was hanging with Louis again, and when that would be, and if kissing was in the plans. Although he'd nearly passed out when Niall surprisingly stopped by, he wouldn't let that get in the way of how wonderful he feels knowing that Louis is equally as addicted to him. Why else would he trick him into a private area for a random kissing session? Whilst he's working! It's clear they can't get enough of each other, and he hopes this feeling never goes away.

As soon as his shift was up he headed straight to the park like Louis told him to do. He said he'd be taking photograph's there again, and would like some company. Harry won't mention how his heart fluttered at the mere mention of seeing him again because that makes him look like a child. With his hands pressed into his jacket pockets, he persists against the cold wind surrounding him and waving his hair around wildly as he walked to the park. It was fairly easy to spot Louis (he sticks out like a sore thumb with his all black outfit: black jumper, black trousers, and black shoes), so with a bit of a skip in his step, he joined Louis at his side.

"You ready?" Louis asks. His eyes were pressed to the camera, the lens tilted up at the trees.

Harry only furrowed his brows and watched him capture a few pictures. When he pulled the camera away, he looked at Harry expectantly. "Uh, sorry? Ready for what?"

Louis lifted his camera up again, and this time pointed it directly at Harry. The shutter sounded twice. "Our first date."

Harry gasped. The shutter sounded, and he instantly got ready to take another picture. He tried to be annoyed with having his photo taken, but the surprise of Louis' words made that impossible. He couldn't help but shyly smile. "What do you mean?"

Louis finally dropped the camera and let it hang around his neck by the strap. His face has gone pale from being out in the cold so long, the tip of his nose pink, and his eyes a sharp color of blue—surely a blue that never existed before developing in Louis' eyes. It's breathtaking.

"Surprise," Louis smiled out with a chuckle. "You ready to go? I know you don't have plans," he says with an extended hand.

Harry eyes his hand, before he looks back at him with narrowed eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come on. I checked with Gemma, Curly," he says with an exaggerated huff. "But if you don't want to, I'll just—"

"No!" Harry interjects hastily. He clears his throat and tries to compose himself. "Uh, I'm free. Yeah. Let's go."

Louis nearly laughs as he inspects him. "Are you nervous, babe?"

Okay. That was unexpected. That was a lovely, amazing, wonderful, beautiful, and incredible unexpected thing. Harry thinks he blacks out for, like, half a second. God. Harry is Louis' babe already. And all he can do is nod in response, because what the fuck could he say to that? Talking would have ruined that. He wants to film Louis calling him that so he can project it whenever he feels like it. Might be a waste of film, but he doesn't care in the slightest. 

Together they walk to Louis' parked car with the bumping of pinky's and grazing of knuckles—it's a painful teasing, but it's better than not touching at all.

It's then Harry realizes that he doesn't care if he can't be romantic with Louis in public. The evidence is in the strong pounding of his heart, the flutter of his stomach, and the never ending smile on his lips: he's the most alive he's ever been. He'll take the bumping of fingers and pinching of thighs as a replacement for hand-holding and kissing of cheeks—he'll take whatever he can. Maybe he's a little too desperate, or a little too infatuated, but maybe he's just on the verge of a great romance. There's a chance this is the exceptional thing he's always strived for—potential love should be one of the most exceptional things of all.


	25. 24.

Harry feels like a boy on Christmas day. The excitement is buzzing throughout his entire body, and he wants to question Louis about what's going on, but a huge part of him wants to be surprised. He likes the spontaneity of it all. And he knows it won't be a public date—it's just a fact—so his mind is whirring trying to figure out where they'll go.

Louis' been driving for maybe fifteen minutes and is inching closer and closer out of town. Harry knows they're heading toward Lightenberg, a town larger than Charlesden, and holds far better dating areas.

"I dressed right...right?" he asks as he looks down at his outfit. Average bluejeans and long-sleeved striped shirt with a brown jacket doesn't exactly look like romantic clothes for a date.

"Doesn't matter," Louis replies. Harry frowns. "But you look nice, yeah."

That didn't really make Harry feel much better about himself. He likes clothes; he likes expressing himself through certain colors and styles. It's part of the reason why yellow is his favorite color—it's happy and positive, and if a person is seen wearing yellow, they will look happy and positive. 

"You always look nice," Louis continues upon seeing Harry's frowned face. "Doesn't matter what you wear."

Harry chews at the corner of his mouth and suppresses a smile. It's strange how a simple compliment from from Louis can make him feel so bubbly and and warm on the inside. The very small smile is soon wiped away as a new emotion settles over his features. His nose scrunches as he peers out the window, trying to piece together what could possibly be date-worthy at a grocery store.

"Let's go!" Louis happily says, as if it's the most normal thing in the world to bring a date grocery shopping.

Harry doesn't say anything, just opens the door and sticks his hands in his pockets once the cold air hits him. Louis' smiling at the situation, he presumes, and opens the door for Harry once they reach the building. 

"What are we doing?" Harry finally asks as he follows Louis around the store. He doesn't mean to sound whiny, but it definitely came out like that.

Louis laughed and stopped once they reached the sweets aisle in the store. "Pick your favorites," he says, gesturing to all the candy out on the shelves.

Harry furrows his brows. "Why?" he questions.

Louis rolls his eyes and gently pushes him closer to the sweets. "Just do it."

Harry sighs and decides to go along with whatever crazy date Louis has in store for them, which somehow includes buying sweets from a grocery store. Romantic. He searches the aisles anyway, looking for his favorite chocolate or gummy. It's a rarity for him to have sweets; his Mum never used to get him any apart from special dates like Christmas or birthdays. It's not that his parents couldn't afford to—it was just a luxury to purchase a sweet over anything else needed for the household. Niall, though, didn't live like that. He could usually find a chocolate stash hidden in his bedside table that they'd devour during hangouts.

He's about to reach for a classic pack of M&M's, but bright blue packaging diverts his attention from it, and actual excitement starts to form in the pit of his stomach. So, instead of M&M's, he reaches for the Razzles instead. He holds the sweets in his hand and spins around back to Louis with a childlike joy.

"Razzles," is all he says.

Louis laughs and watches him with a raised brow. "Right. What else do you like? I might go for a Mars bar," he says as he inspects the sweets. "Ooh, and some Spangles. Can't go wrong with those." He grabs both packages and looks over the shelves one last time, before nodding to himself. "Get something else," he tells Harry.

Harry looks back to the shelves to see if there's anything else he might like. He wasn't ever a big sweets person, which most likely comes from never having much of them, but he can recall enjoying a good lollie or two. He picks up two red packaged lollies. 

"All right," he says. "I'm done."

Louis nods at him suspiciously. "No chocolate?" he asks.

Harry shrugs. "Why are you so concerned with my choices, Lou?" he jokingly asks.

"It's just one of my favorites. You're not big on chocolate?"

Harry studies his face to try and read what his motives truly are. Is this actually about sweets? Is this just Louis trying to get to know him better? Whatever it is, he decides to play into the badgering of chocolates and replies honestly. 

"I do. It's just awfully sweet, isn't it?" Harry says with a slight shrug. He looks down at the candy in his hands and then waves a lolly around Louis' face. "I prefer Razzles and red lollies."

"And those aren't?" Louis asks as he gestures to Harry's candies.

Harry stares at Louis, and Louis stares back with sparkling eyes under the dull grocery store lighting. Without taking his eyes away from Louis', he reaches out and fumbles for a chocolate bar that would keep the blue eyed boy satisfied. When he pulls his hand back, fingers now grasping a shiny-wrapped Kit-Kat bar, he can't help but laugh at the beaming boy upon seeing the chocolate bar he'd selected.

"Excellent choice, Curly!" He happily says.

They both head to the front counter to purchase the items, so Harry lingers behind Louis to wait for him to purchase his sweets. Louis gave his things to the older lady, and then gave Harry an odd look. He didn't say anything, just flicked his head for him to come closer, then darted his eyes down to the counter. He knew what he was saying without actually speaking. Should he argue? Should he allow Louis to pay for his sweets? It was when Louis proceeded to narrow his eyes that he decided, yes, he was going to let him pay.

"You didn't have to do that," Harry said once they exited the store and reached the vehicle. They both sat in the car at the same time, and Louis put the bag of sweets in his lap before he started the car.

"You're not paying on a date. It's common courtesy, Harry. Honestly," Louis simply said. 

Harry played with his lower lip, tugging at it eagerly as Louis drove God knows where. "It's my first," he mumbles quietly.

Louis gasped. "Really? I had no idea! It's like you haven't ever told me that before!" he jokingly, and very sarcastically, says.

Harry rolls his eyes. "All right, stop making fun. I don't know how these things go, is all." And, if he can be totally honest, he doesn't know how to date a boy.

Like, Louis' a boy!

He knows the basic things about dating a girl. It's all he's ever heard about, and how his Mum raised him. Because, yes, she explained to him everything a young boy should be on a date. Respectful, sweet, a gentleman, and to always get a girl flowers. And, lastly, pay for everything. He didn't know if those things applied to Louis. Everything he's ever known in life has somehow flipped around, and he feels like he's just floating through life without a brain. It's a terrible feeling, and so embarrassing.

"I know," Louis says, his tone much softer now. "I just want you to have fun and relax a little. Be yourself. I feel like you're used to covering up so much that you don't know how to be yourself."

Ouch. That one stung. A brutally honest statement that wasn't meant to hurt him, but it still did because it's true. It's sad.

"I like the person I am with you," he quietly says. It's still strange to be able to speak his mind around Louis, and though his brain is telling him not to, his pounding heart is telling him another. "I feel like I'm just me with you. Right?"

"I hope so," he says. His hand extends across the space between them to tug at a curl. "If you feel like you don't have to hide anything with me, then maybe so."

Harry allows the smile to spread over his face instead of suppressing it. "I don't now," he says with a grin. Louis gives a slightly harder tug to his hair that has him raising his shoulder to meet his hand out of instinct. His hand moves from his hair and to his shoulder to squeeze at.

They drive for a little bit in silence. Louis' thumb rubs over Harry's shoulder sweetly and he can't help but try and take in this peaceful moment, as if mentally filming it and storing it away for future watching. 

"Ah, looks like we're here," Louis suddenly says. Harry stops the mental filming and straightens up to look out the window.

Excitement immediately swarms inside Harry, much more so than it did before. It's simple, it's nothing extravagant, and maybe a little boring—but perfect. Absolutely perfect. Because everything else is so bizarre in his life—everything else has been so different and unlike everyone else's, that it feels so wonderful to have a date like this. Louis pulls up to the booth to pay the guy, and he tells him where to park. Louis nods once and drives off where the other cars have already filled the lot; it's nearly all the way full, so they have to park at the far end by some trees. They're almost perfectly hidden.

"Is this all right?" Louis asks once he parks the car.

Harry's ecstatic. Because Louis took him to see a drive-in film! This is what other couple's do, ones that can go out and do things publicly without a care in the world because they won't be judged or thrown out or forced away for liking who they like. 

Harry looked over at Louis with a wide smile and felt like hugging him and kissing him all at the same time. Instead he grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly. "Louis, this is perfect! We're seeing our first film together!"

Louis looked almost embarrassed and shyly smiled. "Yeah. Kinda wanted to give you something normal, y'know? This is, like, dating one-oh-one."

Harry's cheeks hurt from smiling so much. He picks up the sack of sweets and shakes it about with a shake of his head. "Now I understand the sweets."

"Yeah," Louis simply says with a shrug. "We're in a good spot. No one should pay any mind to us." He scratches the back of his head and looks around at the cars filling the large field. 

Others were either out in personally brought lawn chairs, in their vehicles, or sitting on the bonnet of their cars. He doubt that would even last, as it's rather chilly on this November night. Harry couldn't be happier to have this moment with Louis, to have such a normal first date. He didn't know this was all he's ever wanted until now.

"I also brought blankets," he continues. He seems awfully nervous as he reaches behind their seats to fish out two knitted blankets. One's orange with squares patterned around it, and the other's a green and yellow with a matching squared design. Louis looks at them with thought, before handing Harry the green and yellow one. "It'll get chilly with the windows down," he states.

"Thank you," Harry says, still smiling as widely as possible. He adjusts the blanket without much thought since he wasn't cold yet. "Would you like your candy now, or wait later?"

"Later. I like saving it for the film." Harry looks at Louis with a certain feeling swelling up in his chest. He doesn't know exactly why, but he finds Louis so endearing that even his snacking choices make his heart flutter. "What?" Louis asks upon seeing Harry's staring.

"Nothing," he quietly says. He looks down and fiddled with the bag of sweets, only to glance up moments later to find Louis staring at him with a furrowed brow. He sighs. "I just like figuring out these little things about you."

"You're so lame," Louis laughs out. He reaches over and pokes at his cheek, and Harry only assumes he poked his dimple. "What things have you figured out about me?"

Harry suddenly feels put on the spot. He doesn't want to make any wrong assumptions about Louis that he privately thinks. "Um," he starts, fixing his gaze on the blanket in his lap. "That you really like chocolate. Can't cook even though you have a massive kitchen." He gives him a look. "It's a shame, really. Uh, you're good at hiding your feelings. Like, scary good. But now that you've opened up, I can tell your emotions from your eyes when your face doesn't tell me anything." He takes a pause to see if Louis will say anything, maybe ask him to stop, but he doesn't. "You're very thoughtful. You've let me borrow your Dad's guitar, you—you're giving me this date because you want me to experience the normal side of dating. No one thinks like that, Louis." He finally gives in and looks over at him. He's propping his arm on the drivers door and rubbing the knuckle of his forefinger over his lower lip as he listens to Harry speak. 

He doesn't hear enough of this, does he? His Mum isn't around to tell him how loving and kind he is. He's sure Zayn doesn't tell him these things—he's closed off enough. The last time he's probably heard wonderful things spoken to him with meaning, was from his last boyfriend. He's not completely sure that's the case, but by the look on Louis' face and thoughtful look cast on his features, he feels like it is.

"You've brought out the real me that has taken my entire life to stuff down. No one else could ever do that," Harry says. He feels so open and out there that he wishes to sink down in his seat and vanish into thin air. He was never the type to express himself—maybe out of fear of exposing the truth somehow, but it became his normal. 

There's a soft graze of his cheek suddenly, one that nearly makes him jump, but the gentleness eases him. Fingertips caress over his cheekbone, spread out, and then cup his cheek. The hand rests there for a second, then travels to his scalp to begin brushing through his hair. There's a small tug that has him turning his head toward Louis, his hand firm in his hair and the tug a bit more sharp against his tender scalp. He's looking at him with such intent it's almost frightening, but then he's leaning over to get closer to Harry. It's slow, and gentle, and it's done almost as if he's scared, but he kisses Harry.

There's a moment where he's almost afraid people will look in, but he knows Louis wouldn't risk it unless they were hidden well. It's dark out, there's a cartoon playing, so he's sure no one would be paying attention to them. It's such a soft kiss that he's not even sure what to do with himself. He just opens his mouth and Louis' silky lips slowly move against his, and honestly, he doesn't think he'll ever get used to kissing Louis. Every movement of his mouth against Harry's is like delving into the most wonderful part of his dreams and being able to pull them out of his subconsciousness to take with him to reality. It's beautiful and magical—even if it still feels unreal. Harry truthfully was so used to stuffing down his feelings, that now, he has to figure out how to do the opposite. To speak from his heart and not be surprised to kiss the boy he likes so much, and not be surprised that the boy he likes so much likes him back.

Why is it so hard to wrap his head around?

Louis pulls back with a quick inhale and exhale of breath, rests his forehead against his own, and then finally pulls away.

"You're getting me wrapped around your finger there, Curly," Louis softly says. He chuckles ever so slightly and shakes his head. Harry watches him with a shy look tries not to allow his face to read everything that's going through his mind. "I'm glad you're in my life, Harry."

And that's it. Those words speak everything Louis needed to say, and he can tell it holds so much more than what they mean. Maybe Harry was a little too on the nose about Louis not being told such wonderful things, and now, he'll just have to make it his mission to tell him such things everyday. 

———

Harry was fully into the film they were seeing. It was an Audrey Hepburn one that he'd never watched before, with her luscious style and that fabulous way about her—even without trying. He's just always been a fan of hers. They'd both snacked on sweets until they felt sickly, and held hands like a normal couple until they had to pry them apart due to the sweat Harry's palm was creating. They couldn't really lean over to kiss one another with their windows down—the speakers outside their car made it so they could actually hear the film, so if they rolled them up, there wouldn't be much watching. 

Harry took note of how much Louis loves chocolate. He has the sweetest tooth he's ever seen, and he's best mates with Niall! Louis practically devoured his sweets within the first fifteen minutes of the film, and then asked if he could have Harry's chocolate if he wasn't going to finish it off. It was insane how adorable it was. Who thinks eating chocolate is adorable? 

The film had been on for a while, and throughout most of it, Harry's throat has been insanely dry. It could be from the could weather and from the sweets eaten, but he feels like he could drink out of a puddle at this point. He didn't want to leave Louis to get a refreshment—didn't want to be out by himself, either—but he has to at this point. So he turns to Louis, swallows to wet his dry throat, and says:

"I'm going to die if I don't get a water." It's all very dramatic.

Louis turns to him and almost looks like he's going to laugh. "All right. Go get one, goof. Get me one as well, yeah?" He asks as he goes fishing in his pockets for some change. "Get me chocolate bar, too."

Harry takes the change and fully laughs. "More chocolate!" he exaggeratedly spoke. He pockets the coins and shakes his head. "You'll need a teeth cleaning after tonight."

"Oh, don't be silly. I hardly ever indulge myself like this, so why not?" Louis defends.

Harry sighs and nods once, grips the door handle, and pulls open the door. "Be back in a jiffy." 

He shuts the door behind him and hugs himself to keep warm as he weaves his way through cars and people to get to the refreshment booth at the drive-in. There's a moment where he almost plows through a group of children chasing each other and not paying attention to the passer-by, but he's able to side-step them, and eventually, he reaches the refreshment booth.

There's a small line, so he patiently waits behind about five people until the line shortens. He tries to lean over to watch the film, seeing as he was still very invested in it, when someone rather harshly bumps in to his shoulder and has him stumbling out of line. He almost gets angry because of how forceful the accidental bump was, but the familiar voice that accompanied the stranger made him feel cold all over.

"Oi, sorry, mate. Didn't see ya there! I'll have to—Harry? Harry!"

Harry shuts his eyes and breathes in deeply. His mind is already trying to figure out a lie for himself in this moment—he doesn't want to ruin this perfect night. So he slowly turns and puts on a smile at the sight of a cheerful Niall, whose cheeks are flushed and eyes are bright. He mentally groans.

"Niall!" He's still grinning. "Funny bumping into you here! Out of town! Funny!" He sounds a bit too happy. He's got to tone it down or he'll look suspicious.

Niall doesn't seem to notice, though. "Mate!" He says again, this time purposely shoving his shoulder with his hand. "What are the fuckin' odds? Ya here with your lady? Jenny? I need to say hi to her! Lily's around here somewhere. Probably gettin' the back seat ready, if ya know what I mean, eh?" he suggestively raises his brows and Harry nods along with a forced laugh.

"Ha. Yeah," he mutters. Maybe he'll avoid talking about Jenny. Just change the subject, Harry. "Um, how is Lily? Are you two having a good time?"

Niall moves up with Harry when the line starts to shorten. "Yeah, it's all good with us. She's amazing, as usual. We try to come here when we can to get out of town, you know? Liam sometimes comes, but he's started to get annoyed with it."

Harry furrows his brows. "Annoyed? Why?"

Niall shrugs. "'Cause Olivia wants him, man. He keeps fighting her off for God knows why. Like, what guy can turn down a lady that's throwing herself at you? I wouldn't have the strength. I'm glad Lily just takes her time. Like, at first, she was really shy, ya know? Wouldn't want to do anything with me, and it was fine. It was whatever. I just wanted her happy, yeah? She's finally coming out of that. We have fun."

Niall seems genuinely happy. He doesn't seem too upset with Lily and her shyness (he might have had to smack him against the head if he did), and looks as if he's falling in love. It's incredibly sweet.

"Niall," he carefully starts. "Why do you think Liam's not taking the next step with Olivia? I feel like this is what he's always wanted, and now that she wants to...he doesn't? It's a bit odd, right?"

Niall's sighs. "I don't fucking know. He's always been an odd cunt." A lady behind them gasps. Niall glances back to the older lady and looks back at Harry. "Dick, sorry. He's always been an odd dick."

"Not any better," the lady says with as much disapproval as she can muster.

"Oi, the fuck you want me to say, nosy bitch? That he's a big-fucking-penis? He's a big-fucking-weird-ass-motherfucking-dick-penis?"

"Well! This generation and your Mary Jane! May God bless your soul if you kiss your mother with that mouth!" She gasps out angrily.

Niall full on turns to face her. Harry shuts his eyes out of embarrassment. "Aye, and I pray to God with these fucking abominable words of mine! I do it high, too!"

The lady gasps even more. Harry's worried she might pass out with the way she's so bothered, but when he turns around, all he sees is a flick of dark hair as she stomps away. Harry shakes his head and takes another step up as the line shortens more.

"Fuck, Niall," he lightly laughs out. "You almost gave her a heart attack."

Niall grumbles something underneath his breath, but Harry's sure he doesn't want to make out what he said.

Finally the line clears and he's up next. He orders two waters, pays for a chocolate bar, and waits patiently for his order to be filled. Niall waits beside him until he gets his things, and then orders something for himself. Harry's tempted to just up and leave whilst he's ordering, but he's certain Niall would hunt him down looking for him if he did that. He just wants to get back to Louis.

"Right, I'm going back to Lily now," Niall says once he's got his popcorn in his hand. "Tell Jenny I say hi," he says with a wink. "Bye, mate!"

Harry exhales out of relief. "Bye, Niall," he says. He turns and makes for the direction Louis' car is in. He's glad Niall parked on the other side of the lot, far away from Harry and Louis. He didn't want anyone crashing their date and asking questions. He's still not ready for them to know.

He approaches the car and gets in rather quickly, both cups of water in hand. He hands Louis his chocolate bar and water, and downs nearly all of his water in one go.

"Guess who I ran in to," he says after he catches his breath. Louis looks at him with his brows drawn in; he's suddenly looking very worried. "Just Niall," he casually says. The worried look didn't leave Louis' face. "He isn't suspicious or anything, Lou. You can chill out your face now."

Louis instantly relaxes and takes a sip from his water. "What's he doing here?" he asks.

"Apparently he and Lily come here a lot. He said Liam usually comes with Olivia, but—okay, tell me if this sounds weird to you—but Liam is uncomfortable with Olivia. Like, apparently, she wants him bad, but he doesn't feel the same way. Is that strange?" Harry asks. He feels like he's gossiping now, which starts to make him feel bad. He doesn't mean to spread Liam's business around.

Louis' thoughtful face suddenly makes an appearance, and he stays quiet for a moment as he thinks on Harry's words. "Not necessarily. He's probably just not ready like she is right now."

Harry nods slowly. Right. That could be it, honestly. He doesn't want to overthink things, but he also doesn't want Liam to feel left out if there's a part of him that feels Harry did. He doesn't want to assume anything, of course, but his mind can't help but to go there. He tries not to think about it. Liam's just trying to take is slow!

"How did you know?" Harry asks. 

Louis looks at him with a quirked brow and, slowly, the corner of his mouth quirks up. "Well, Young Harry, when two people are attracted to one another, it becomes known when one is ready to be fucked, or to get fucked. Either way, there are plenty of signs."

Harry's eyes instantly widen. God, he's so stupid. He did not phrase his question correctly, and now, he wishes to just get out of the car and walk home. How embarrassing! Louis thought he was asking when he assumed a good time it was to have sex in a relationship, when in reality, he was asking how to figure out if someone is gay. Fuck. His cheeks are burning. And now he's thinking about Louis fucking someone. God, he doesn't want to think about that at all. How did he get here? How did he become this embarrassing person?

"I—" he says, but he can't find any other words. He sips down the rest of his water because his throat is dried out again. "Um, I mean, like, how did you know? Um. God, like, how do you know if someone is attracted to guys? Like—" he inhales deeply and looks out the windshield to the film. He can't look at Louis. "Like, when a guy likes a guy. Like with me. Fuck, um, whatever. Never mind."

Louis full on laughs. It would be wonderful and almost musical if it wasn't him laughing at Harry in this moment. "Harry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. You have to clarify what you mean, babe," he gently says. He runs his hand through Harry's long hair and brushes through a tangled bit with soft fingers. "Sometimes you just know with others. You can tell by the way their eyes linger on certain parts of your body, or how intrigued they are with you—uh, but I'm not the kind to assume."

"You knew with me," Harry quietly says, still looking out the windshield.

"Yeah, 'cause you kissed me at your dance, you idiot. That was a huge sign."

It's Harry's turn to laugh now. He finally peels his eyes away from the gigantic screen to find comfort in Louis' unforgettable eyes. "Yeah. I guess it was." His hand instinctively moves over to the door to manually begin rolling up his window. Louis' eyes trail from Harry's face to his movements, and not soon after, he's copying Harry and rolling up his window, too. 

It's almost poetic and ridiculous that, as Harry's leaning over to kiss Louis, he sees Audrey Hepburn on the big screen begin to kiss her love interest out of the corner of his eye. He almost laughs at the timing, but instead smiles widely and welcomes the feeling of Louis' soft lips on his. Harry decides to take lead with things this time—just because he can—and he rests his hand against Louis' cheek to keep him close.

His mouth tastes faintly of chocolate and not the regular peppermint that lingers in his mouth; it's different, but still wonderful. Wonderful because he gets to do this whenever he pleases. Their noses bump when he tilts his head, lips moving much more sensually on Louis' as he sucks at his lower lip. He somehow finds the courage to copy the way Louis kissed him at the dance, with the hot and needy passion that instantly ruined him in that moment. He remembers how Louis pressed his hips into him, how he eased pleasurable noises out of his mouth, and how he bit his lower lip. He wants to excite Louis like that; he wants to show that he's becoming skilled in this area of things, too.

A thought pops into his mind, one that he should try executing more often. His hand that's cupping his cheek starts to move further back, far enough so that his fingers can rub at his earlobe with a tight soft fingers. Instead of biting his lip like Louis did to him at the dance, he moves to bite at his ear. He did it playfully before, but not like this. Not with it being a mission to coax noises out of Louis. 

He pulls his lips away from Louis' rather abruptly, doesn't give him time to think about what's happening before it actually is happening. He's got the lower half of his ear between his teeth in no time, giving it a gentle bite and suck, trying to seem confident in his actions to be able to please Louis most. And, with exciting success, Louis releases a low, pleasurable noise that has Harry pulling away from shock and joy from actually succeeding in his task.

Louis slowly opens his eyes and blinks them droopily, slightly dazed, and he watches as he rubs over his own ear in shock. "Fuck, I didn't know you were such a tease," he mutters.

Harry tries biting away a smile. "Me either."


	26. 25.

"Can we do something for a minute?" Harry suddenly asks.

They're on their way back from seeing their film, and he isn't exactly ready for this night to be over with. He doesn't want to go back to hiding things at home, so if Louis' okay with it, he wants to do something different with him.

"Um," Louis starts, the dark night making it difficult to see his expressions. "Yes?"

Harry can't help but release a breathy laugh. "Pull over," he says. It's dark out. They're on a stretch of road where it's nothing but empty plains. Why not?

"Can I ask why?" Louis' voice travels, light and soft, curious but willing. He starts to slow the car and eventually pulls off the side of the road.

"Now follow," he simply says. Harry opens the door and walks away from the car after shutting the door behind him, hopping over a ditch to reach the level ground that probably belongs to some farmer or some shit. Whatever.

"Harry, what the fuck is going on?" Louis asks from not too far behind him.

He only smiles and spins around, the dead grass coming up on his shoes. Before he answers him, he decides to plop down where he's at and lay down altogether. Fuck it. He wants to do this, wants to be with him like this on their first date, so he's determined to get what he wants. Even if he looks inane while doing so.

"Not again," Louis groans out. "Have you been secretly high this entire time?"

Harry's laugh escapes his lips. He doesn't answer, just pats the empty and cold spot beside him. It's not cloudy (surprisingly so—it's usually the only dependable thing in England), and he can see the half-sized moon hanging above with the stars sparkling all around it. The stars seem brighter tonight. Somehow happier. As he's studying them, Louis moves to lay next to him and doesn't say a word. Harry takes this moment to try and read what the sky is writing out before his very eyes. Are they whispering great stories of the boys they've seen like them from years ago? Are they still crying out with their twinkling lights? Maybe he'd misread them from the beginning; he possibly tried to fit their story to relate to his, which isn't very fair to them.

He's also possibly reading too much into it all.

Then Louis clears his throat.

"Oh," Harry says, only now realizing he hadn't spoke. "Sorry. I just wanted to be with you before it's all over. Wanted to speak freely, and not in code, like I did that one night. Remember?"

Louis hums beside him. "Yeah. Talking about how the stars were talking to you or some shit. I remember. I also remembered trying not to grab your arse through your trousers when I was grabbing your keys that night. 'Cause I respect you and all that."

Harry snorts. "Why, thank you. I might have passed out if you did that. If you...do that." He takes a pause to think on Louis physically playing out that idea, and starts to feel his cold cheeks heat up. He clears his throat as if to clear the thought away. "Um, anyway. I just want to lay here. And hold your hand. Can I?" he asks, fumbling his fingers around in the grass to try and find Louis' hand. There's a warm brush of fingertips, and then the search is over. They lace their fingers together and it feels like heat shoots up from his palm, up his arm. 

"What now?" Louis asks. 

He's trying to be funny.

"Shut up," Harry says with a smile. The warmth from their hands together was enough to stop the chattering of his teeth. 

He's heard of there being a spark between two people that like each other, but he never knew of the physical spark he feels when Louis touches him. He only wonders if Louis feels the same way about him.

"This was all I wanted that night. I was just desperate for something real," Harry sighs out. "And now that it is, it doesn't feel like it."

Louis shifts beside him—he can tell he's looking at him now. "How come?" he questions, voice gone soft. Harry's noticed his voice goes very soft and gentle when things become serious.

"I don't know. When did it feel real to you? With Elijah?" Harry curiously asks.

Louis doesn't answer. Their breathing is somewhat loud through the silence surrounding them. It worries Harry when he hears nothing from Louis, so he turns his head to see what's happening. And he seems pained. It hits him that Harry hardly knows about his past with Elijah, how it started and what all happened. He knows they broke up because they got found out, but that's all he knows. Is it too painful for him to think back on? Does he still love this Elijah guy?

"Elijah was very different. We were all friends before he and I ended up together," Louis starts, his gaze up at the sky with an all too serious look on his face. "Zayn actually introduced us. Said he met this bloke at a concert and they shared a very thoughtful blunt—whatever the fuck that means," Louis laughs out. But he still looks so pained whilst doing so. "We all just formed a close bond after that. One night we got drunk and took some other shit, and before I realized it, we were both making out." Louis suddenly snaps his head over to stare at Harry, his eyes searching his with a panicked look. "Sorry. I don't want to hurt you by talking about that."

Harry's quick to shake his head and squeeze his hand. "No, no. Louis, you can tell me anything. He's a huge part of who you are, yeah? You can talk about it. I might not like picturing it, but it's okay," he says with a convincing smile. He means every word.

Louis stares at him for quite a long time to see if he was actually speaking the truth. When his eyes finish roaming over the entirety of his face, he settles his gaze on Harry's eyes and offers a heartwarming smile. "Elijah was fucking intense. We'd be great one minute, then he'd be breaking one of my lamps because he thought he saw me staring too long at another bloke. Who the fuck knows? He made the madness seem endearing somehow." 

Harry watches him speak, watches him relive these memories with a certain look on his face. It's almost fondness and sadness mixed together then a struggled expression passes, and he's quickly moving his gaze back up at the sky and away from Harry's view. 

"He was the kindest person around when shit hit the fan. When dad died, he never left me alone—even when it risked everyone finding out the truth. He didn't care about himself when it came to the people he cared about. It was another insane quality that was also the most endearing. He was just...Elijah. I can't really describe him," Louis says. He exhales loudly and removes his hand from Harry's.

Harry tries to not be hurt by the action, or by the way he's speaking so lovingly about Elijah, because it's not about him. This was the past. A first love is always special, right?

"We got in a massive fight before his family found out. He was at mine and said he was tired of hiding everything. There was nothing I could do to comfort him in that moment. He stormed off home, and then that night, my Mum gets a visit from his Mum and it was just...terrible. They'd found out. Apparently someone tipped them off a few hours before he got home, and then our lives were just never the same."

Harry stared up at the sky and let his eyes flick from star to star in thought. Is this what their future would be like? Would he eventually get tired of hiding, and then just wait for the truth to unfold and explode before his very eyes?

"What happened? After all that?" Harry quietly asks. He feels like he's invading Louis' space somewhat by asking. Are these normal date-asking things?

"We ended it. We both parted ways and didn't really talk after. It was just a lot for both of our families to suddenly put so much hatred on us for who we love. We weren't good for each other, now that I look back at it. We fought too much. It was chaos and destruction glued together by infatuation. Inevitably it fell apart." Louis finally turned his head to eye Harry, and Harry tried his hardest to keep his eyes up.

He caved not only seconds later and found himself staring back at Louis with a mixture of feelings swirling through his head and chest, and it was conflicting. Louis could read those feelings—he knew by the way he was staring so intensely into his eyes. He finally reaches over the cold, dead grass to take Harry's hand again, and instantly, warmth and reassurance spread throughout his chest and mind. He shouldn't be thinking about the future; he should be thinking about now. 

Because right now, Louis is laying beside him. Louis is holding his hand. Louis is with him.

"You're not anything like him, Harry," Louis says, voice so soft it almost doesn't sound like him. Harry's heart begins to thud a little bit harder in his chest. "You're so passionate about the things you love, and you have a light that I'm just drawn to. I don't want to talk about Elijah—not while you're here, and not while my feelings for you are something I never came close to experiencing with him." Louis suddenly leans up on his elbow and brings his other hand up to run his fingertips over Harry's cheekbone. "And you're obviously a fuck-ton more stunning."

Harry lightly laughs and feels his eyes blink closed to take in the way Louis was carefully swirling his fingers over his face so delicately. He wants to say something, but it seems like his words are just caught in his throat and won't come out. Maybe it's for the better. There's a warmth that abruptly comes over him, and as he goes to open his eyes, he feels Louis' lips tease over his jaw. He places a kiss there and he allows his eyes to flutter shut for this special moment. 

Harry likes the idea of spending an honest night with Louis under the stars to do the things he'd always wanted to do. And speaking of, Louis was currently sucking at his neck—right underneath his jaw. Which is a sensation he's never experienced before, and he unintentionally reaches up with his right hand to dig his fingers into Louis' shirt. His head tilts, welcoming in Louis more (his eyes are still pressed tightly shut), and his fingers almost dig into his back to get a firmer grasp on something. It was rather surprising how nice it felt to be treated this way, to be kissed and sucked and bit on. A painful pleasure that has him harshly chewing at his lip.

And all too soon, it's over with. Louis' body heat retreats, and he no longer feels the warmth of his mouth on his neck. The cool wind blows and tingles at the wet spot Louis was oh-so-fondly kissing. His eyes were on his neck, then glanced to his eyes with an almost proud smile that he tried to bite back. Harry furrowed his brows.

"What?" He questioned, fingers leaving Louis' shirt to touch the spot still wet from his saliva. He went to just wipe it dry, but when a sting of his tender skin was grazed, he immediately pulled his hand back. It felt as if there was a bruise on his neck. "Wha—?" he started, confused, and moving to trail his fingers lightly over it once more. He winced.

"Looks rather lovely on you," Louis spoke in a somewhat lower voice. He dipped his head down to kiss over the spot, which made Harry nearly freeze in place. 

He may have released a tiny groan when he felt Louis tongue over the tender spot.

With his cheeks now insanely red and a feeling swirling in the pit of his stomach, he teasingly pushed at Louis' chest so that he could get his back off the cold, dead grass. Louis politely slid off and sat up, watching as Harry followed his movements. 

"Does it show?" Harry asked, tilting his head to the left to give Louis a better view. 

"It does," Louis says with a smile, his finger coming up to give it a rather harsh poke. Harry winces. "You could give me one. To keep it fair."

Harry stares at him in thought, his legs crossing, and his mind almost spinning. Louis looks incredible right now, with the moonlight hitting the high-points of his face and coating his lashes to cast shadows over his cheekbones. He'd jump at the opportunity to do the same, to treat him with the expertise a love-bite takes to create, but that's exactly what he lacks. He doesn't know how to make it feel good, when there's too much teeth or not enough sucking. He's afraid to embarrass himself. So, he shakes his head and becomes shy from the topic. Maybe in the future. 

"No?" Louis teases, bumping his shoulder against Harry's. "I'll even tell you the spot that gets me riled up."

Harry rolls his eyes tucks his chin into his shoulder as he stares at Louis. He doesn't know why he's become so shy, but the topic is something he's unfamiliar with. "I'd rather find it myself one day," he cheekily says, a smile gracing his lips. 

He watches Louis' smile turn into one of interest, with his brows raising and his lips pursing. "Quite like that idea," he mutters. 

And I quite like you, Harry mentally adds. Instead he just grabs Louis' hand to feel the way it warms his body. He kisses the back of it, tries not to look at the way Louis' staring at him, and feels himself go to stand. He tugs at Louis to help him up, and his teeth start to chatter.

"Ready to go?" he asks, their hands tightly tangles together.

Louis nods. "Yeah."

And together they walk to the car, through all the uneven ground and a hopping over a ditch. No one says a word, no one mentions how the date is coming to an end, because that would put damper on things. Tonight was perfect. Louis was perfect. Harry could write possibly a billion songs from everything he felt tonight, and actually might attempt to.

They pull their hands apart once they reach the car, and Harry moves to open his door. It's when he's got his hand on the handle that it happens. When he's least expecting it, and when he doesn't have the opportunity to conceal the squeal that leaves his mouth. Because Louis had reached out and grabbed a handful of his ass to squeeze, the grip so bloody hard that he arched his back and squealed. 

"Louis!" He exclaimed, turning and pressing his bum into the car door, far away from Louis' wandering hands.

He lifted his hands innocently. "Sorry! I thought we were doing the things we wanted to do from that one night! If you think I didn't want to grab your arse whilst I was digging for your keys, you'd be mistaken."

Harry laughed loudly and shockingly, his eyes wide as he stared at Louis. "You're mad," he continued to laugh out, his eyes never leaving Louis and his invasive hands. "Get in the car so I won't be afraid to turn my back around you."

"I mean—" Louis paused, put his hands down, and stepped closer to him "—would it be the worst thing in the world?"

Harry tried to not smile. "There'll be payback for that one, Lou. Just you wait."

"Oh, I'm so terrified!" Louis sarcastically says with an annoying smile.

———

"Fuck, Harry, did you have it out with a leech?" Gemma asks once he's made his way upstairs.

He groans and rolls his eyes. "Shut it," he mutters, his fingers coming up to touch the bruised spot with a grimace. "Is it really that noticeable?" 

She nods, her eyes wide and never leaving from the spot on his neck. "Uh, yeah."

He huffs and walks swiftly down the hall and to the bathroom to get a glimpse of it himself. His eyes instantly go wide once he sees the very red, and very splotchy bruise on his neck. Maybe he can cover it with his hair if he doesn't move his head any—it's right below his jaw. Fuck. It isn't small, either. It's very fucking noticeable.

Louis definitely did that on purpose.

"Maybe I can offer some makeup," Gemma says with an amused smile. "Oof, looks like it hurt. So, I'm guessing your first date was a wild one?"

Harry shakes his head and turns off the light so that he won't stare at it anymore. "No, it was sweet. He's really thoughtful—and it—he just—"

"Sucked your neck like a fuckin' vampire?"

Harry groans, rolls his eyes, and shoves past his nosy sister. "Gem! It was just a little moment we had, nothing crazy. Please," he sighs. 

"I'm just teasing you. I remember my first one. I was fifteen, and Wally was—"

"No. No, thank you," Harry interrupts with a frown. He moves to his bedroom door swiftly and goes to open it. "Don't want to hear anything about what you've done with guys, thanks."

He lets his words sit in the air before stepping into his room and closing the door. He hears her grumble words unhappily before her own door clicks closed; with a heavy sigh, he quickly steps past dirty clothes on his floor to get to the mirror hanging on his wall. He stares at himself, from his messy hair where his curls are falling out of place, to his bright eyes an flushed cheeks. He hasn't looked at himself for a good while. For the longest time, he couldn't stand seeing himself in the mirror and looking at the person that faked his way through everything daily. He somehow looks happier, his face almost glowing. That spot on his neck suddenly catches his gaze and he releases a frustrated huff. Everyone would assume Jenny did it. He hasn't actually gotten around to telling everyone that they broke up—he'll have to soon. Maybe in a few days since Niall thinks he was just on a date with her.

He decides to push all thoughts of Niall and Jenny far, far away. He's just had his first date with Louis Tomlinson, and the night was unbelievably perfect. Even if he felt like his breath was rank from all the sweets and kissing him almost made him self-conscious, it was fucking perfect. He pads over the spot with his forefinger, stares at the splotchy red bruise, and feels a smile spreading across his face. It's wonderful, isn't it? To be physically marked in a way that shows something intimate has happened, but there's no evidence to the person that's done it. 

Positively wonderful.

He smiles his way over to his bed and throws himself back on it, his limbs all spread as he stares up in a daze. Harry recalls the morning after kissing Louis the first time, how scared he was, how unsure his life seemed to be, and can't help but laugh. He's kissed Louis so much more now and feels the complete opposite. He feels content, and like everything is coming together. Like this is the moment in his life where everything begins turning around, and things get figured out. He can only hope that's what will happen.

———

"Ah, fuck," he groans out.

"You need help?" Liam whispers from beside him.

"I just can't get it in," Harry says with a frustrated huff.

"You've got to adjust your grip and spread your feet more," Liam comments.

Harry nods and tries out his advice, readjusting his stance and grip.

"No, higher," Liam interjects. "You've got to aim higher to hit that sweet spot."

"I'm trying!" Harry barks back, deciding to just put the basketball down. "I hate sports. This is irrelevant to my studies!"

"Styles, stop your complaining and shoot the ball, yeah?" his gym teacher yells from across the court.

He frowns and picks the ball back up, embarrassed from being caught by their teacher, before he shoots and misses yet again. He misses football. 

"And what the fuck is on your neck?" Liam asks, squaring his feet and shoulders before he shoots the ball and annoyingly makes it in the basket. 

Harry shuffles his feet for a moment, waiting for a stray basketball to come his way, before he shrugs. "Uh, what do you mean?"

Liam fully turns to him and actually extends his finger out to touch it. Harry gasped and instantly swatted his hand away, a look of disbelief settling over his feature as he stares back at Liam. It'd been a few days since it happened, the color turning from bright red to a purplish color. 

"You've got a hickey!" Liam practically shouts out for the entire class to hear.

Harry squeezes his eyes closed and breathes in and out deeply to calm his anger down. Once he feels the urge to yell at him to subside, he opens his eyes and stares back at Liam with a feigned uninterested look. He shrugs and moves his vision back to his classmates roughing it up over a basketball.

"Fine, don't tell me about it," Liam quietly says with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"What do you want me to say? Surely you've gotten plenty from Olivia. Or have given plenty," he mumbles. He'd rather talk about anything else.

Liam goes quiet for a moment, and when Harry turns to look at him, he sees he's just picked up a basketball. Liam catches his eye and darts his gaze to the side with a nod. "Yeah, yeah. Plenty. Plenty received, plenty given. Plenty."

Harry furrows his brows and watches him shoot the ball stiffly, which results in him missing his first basket. He eases up on the questioning and decides to not bring Olivia up again. Clearly something's wrong. Either they're fighting and he doesn't want to talk about it, or Liam's just being strange on purpose. Either way, he doesn't want to fuel to the discomfort Liam's feeling from the topic.

"We should hang out later," Harry says instead. "We haven't in a while."

Liam nods in agreement. "Yeah, totally! I'm free Thursday! Going out with Olivia tomorrow, and have to study tonight. Does that work for you?"

Harry's about to say it does, but he frowns instead. "Uh, I actually have guitar lessons." Liam furrows his brows. "But you can still come over. It won't be long, honestly. It should be fine."

"You sure? Don't you have them with Zayn?" he asks, sounding a little weirded out by the idea.

"Yeah, but you don't have to come if you don't want to. I mean, we haven't spent much time together in a while, but it's up to you."

"No, no," Liam quickly says. He bends down to pick up a basketball that was rolling his way. "It's fine with me. Really."

Harry can't help but laugh at his reaction; he shoves his shoulder and rolls his eyes, and moves to steal the ball from his hands when he goes to shoot it. 

For the rest of the gym period, they joke around and annoy each other on purpose to mess up their shots. It made the boring game fun to Harry, so he didn't mind making a fool of himself if it meant Liam didn't get a shot in. 

And he won't think about how he may try find out if Liam has the hots for Zayn. He's not going to be that way at all on Thursday night! He's going to be a gentleman and take his guitar lessons like a complete professional. 

It's with these thoughts in his head that he picks up a basketball and lunges it at Liam's head. All in good fun, of course.


	27. 26.

Wednesday.

Oh, the most dreadful day of the week.

Harry's possibly dragging out his moments at home before the inevitable sickly feeling in his stomach catches up to him. It's only about thirty minutes until he has to walk out the front door, take his Mum's car, and drive to his father's. He hopes these dinners won't last long—he feels like things are becoming even more distant between the two. The past few dinners had consisted of just food and what little small talk Elaine could muster up. It was just strange for his Dad not to engage in talk of school like he usually does.

"You're going to be late," Anne says by his side.

He huffs and flops around on the couch like a fish out of water, throwing what would be an "adult" tantrum. He huffs once more and leans his head back on the couch to release the most dramatic groan he could.

"I don't want to go," he frowns out. He stares up at the ceiling with a displeased look. "When will it stop?"

"I don't know, Harry. Ask the police."

Harry lifts his head to look at his Mum with a frown. "Not funny," he says once her lips begin turning upward. "Maybe vandalism wasn't the way to go about things, but adultery shouldn't have been either."

Her wine glass raised to her lips to conceal the frown, the glass firmly pressing into them as she stares off in thought. "I suppose you're right." She looks at Harry with a sudden determined look and then abruptly puts the wine glass down on the small, oval table in front of them. "I'll give him a ring and tell him you've fallen ill. How's that sound?"

Harry instantly perks up, his shoulders going from hunched to perfectly straight at the mention of feigning a sickness. "Mum, really?" he asks in disbelief.

"Fuck it," she giggles out. Harry raises his brows at her wording and watches her remove herself from the couch to go to the rotary on the wall. "He deserves it!"

"You're like schoolgirl," Harry chuckles out. She looks giddy to call his father and tell him this little lie; he does deserve something to go wrong in his life, though. It's only fair.

"Del!" Anne says, her voice overly sweet. "Glad I could get ahold of you." She pulls her head away from the phone to try and conceal her giggles, and Harry can't help but laugh along. "Harry has..." 

Harry raises his brows and watches as the confidence leaves his Mum for a brief moment, her eyes wide as they stare at Harry for an excuse.

"Harry's had a bad dinner and he can't stop hurling. My poor baby. There's just no way he can make it—unless you want to clean up after him?" Anne pauses for a second, then nods. "As I thought. He'll just have to see you next week. Give Ellie my best. Tootles," she says with a fake smile before hanging up rather harshly. 

"You know, her name is—"

"I know her name," Anne interjects. "Obviously."

Harry laughs in awe and utter shock, his mouth wide open as he stares at his proud Mum. She basically sways into the kitchen to retrieve the wine bottle she was working her way through, when the phone suddenly rang again.

Harry hopped up instantly. It could be Del again, it's a very high possibility, but it could also be Louis. So he waves dismissively at his Mum when she begins walking to the phone, and answers it for her.

"Hello?" Confusion settles in, and his brows furrow not a moment later. Loud music can be heard through the phone, but it also sounds distant and muffled. No one had replied, either, so he says it again: "Hello?"

"H-Harry?" a timid voice calls out. It sounds like Gemma, but it also sounds nothing like her at the same time. "Harry, is that you?" 

Her words are slurred and slow, almost as if she's about to pass out at any moment. He shouldn't feel panicked—this is a normal night for Gemma, but she's never called before.

"Yeah. What's wrong?" He's suddenly very aware of his Mum and how she's staring too hard at him. He tilts and turns more toward the wall to shield his expressions from her.

"Pick me up, please. Don't tell Mum, she'll worry. Please come get me." There's a long pause, one the loud music fills, but then he hears a heartbreaking sob. "Harry."

He's panicked now. His heart starts pounding harder in his chest and he feels as if he could pass out from the sudden speed. "Where? Where are you?"

It's very quiet and very slowly said, but Gemma tells him the address. He's not even sure he heard it right, but it's better to try than to do nothing at all. If it is wrong, he'll just have to ask around for whoever's hosting a fucking party on a Wednesday. Whichever lunatic that is should be easy to zero in on. He hangs up rather harshly and spins around, his actions frantic as he fumbles around the living room for his Mum's car keys.

"Harry, who was that? What's wrong?" she asks.

He successfully finds her keys on a decorative plate on the oval coffee table, and instantly heads to the door. "Uh, Niall needs me. Having trouble with a Maths question." And with that, he leaves the house without giving his Mum an opportunity to question him. 

———

He found the house. He's certain he left the car running when he left it, but he doesn't care. Something's wrong with his sister—terribly wrong. She would never call for help on a night out. The music is loud when he approaches the door, and even louder when he steps inside. He pays no mind to the sloppy dancing and drunkards stumbling around him, nor the white lines of God knows what on the tables. 

It's a fucking mess.

It's barely eight o'clock and this is what it looks like? When did this party start? 

He stops in the living room to scan it thoroughly, watching as others swapped spit or blunts, before he concluded his sister wasn't in here. He doesn't even know whose house this is, but by the lack of decor and run-down sofas, it had to belong to a younger person. There's no family portraits hung and no telly set. 

He makes his way into what should be the dining area, but seeing as there's no table, it's another spot for dry-humping legs and dirty dancing. Gemma can't be in here; her speech made it seem like she was on the verge of passing out. She wasn't coherent enough to be this active.

Next, he finds himself in the kitchen. Cheap alcohol litters the counters, marijuana lingers in the air, and as he's searching the room and shouldering people out of the way, he spots a rotary phone on the wall by the cabinets. He's quick to move closer to it, not caring who he knocks over. 

This had to be the telephone Gemma called him on. He frantically looks around; there's a table in the kitchen, but it's filled with boys with girls in their laps, and none of them are Gemma. He wants to fucking scream for everyone to shut up and help him, but he can't get the words out. Out of the corner of his eye he sees a door and does a double-take. The telephone call did sound muffled, as if the music was somehow silenced by closed room. It wouldn't sound like that if she stood in the kitchen, but if she sat in what could be a closet, it would. 

He rushes over to the door and flings it open without hesitation, but to his quick disappointment, she's not in there.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he says to himself, with worry and stress and so much bloody panic. 

And then he sees him. It takes too long for him to notice, because the girl on him is not Gemma, but it's undoubtedly him. Anger consumes Harry, so much so that he's making his way over to Steve with this red-hot anger that he hardly remembers even moving.

"Where the fuck is she, Steve?" Harry yells at him. The girl instantly scurries away from his lap, and Steve hunches against the counter he's propping himself up on.

"Seriously, man? What's your deal?" he asks, high and drunk and all squinty-eyed.

"What's my—what's my deal?" He doesn't really know how his hands fisted the collar of his shirt without even thinking about doing it, but they did. "Where the fuck is my sister?"

His confused face scrunched up and his hand reached up to push at Harry's chest, but he didn't budge. He shook his head a second after. "No idea, Harry! She blew me off. Can you go now?"

"Harry," a much calmer voice spoke.

He turned at the mention of his name to find that the voice belonged to Barry. He stood with wide eyes as they flicked between the scene in front of him, and out of embarrassment, Harry let Steve's shirt go and took a step back. He just needs to find Gemma. He isn't thinking clearly, and his action are just erratic because he's so fucking worried. 

"Gemma's in here," he says, his voice still remaining calm. As if he didn't want to speak a certain way that would set him off. 

Harry carefully steps closer to Barry, nodding thankfully, and waiting for him to lead the way. He sighs out of relief; his shaking hands due to being so furious clench to try and still them, but it's an unsuccessful effort. 

He's led through a small hallway with only a few doors, and with ugly wallpaper consuming the walls. He's not sure what pattern they were—his mind elsewhere—but the color of blues and purples was enough to make him feel even more repulsed. Barry then stops to open a door, which has Harry's heart pounding harder in his chest from the suspense. He just needs to see her. He needs to know that she's okay.

He flings himself past Barry once the doors opened and stumbles once the sight before him is revealed. He pauses and blinks quickly, eyes dancing over the people in front of him, before they fall on Gemma's limp body. Matty's holding her on the bed, and Jenny's brushing her fingers through her hair with a look of worry on her face. He decides to ignore that, and instead focus on his sister. Who's basically unconscious. 

"She took a lot of stuff without knowing what it was," Jenny says with her permanent furrowed brows. "We're just trying to keep her awake."

His thoughts are slowly gathering. He's not sure if he's gaining some clarity now that the situation is displayed before him, or if it's the relief that she's at least alive. But now his mind goes to her friends, and where they were when she took these things, and why they weren't around until it was too late.

"No one saw?" Harry asks, becoming a little bit more furious as the seconds tick by. "No one seemed to notice that she snuck into a closet to call her baby brother for help?" His voice his raised. He doesn't mean to yell, but it's what comes out.

Matty shakes his head. "It isn't our fault. Steve was with her, but they got into a fight and she just went crazy, Harry. Like, insane. Then she saw him with another girl and then she went on a rampage. We didn't know what she'd taken—or what even happened when we found her like this."

Harry feels like crying and screaming all at once. He feels his hands come up to grip harshly at his hair, tugging at his scalp in frustration. "Should we take her to the hospital?" He asks, panicked, and inching closer to the bed.

"Fuck no," Gemma says, her words slow and deep. She sounds exhausted. "I'm fine. I just need to sleep it off. I'm responsible, I know what I took." She sighs and rolls her head away from Jenny's gentle fingers. "I just need sleep. Harry...take me home."

Her words are slow, slurred, and so monotone that it doesn't even sound like her. He bites his lip, unsure of what to do, but then she goes to sit up and everyone in the room inches forward to get ready to catch her when she inevitably falls. Her hair is a mess around her face, sticking up in random places and tangled around her head. Her eye makeup is smeared below her eyes, giving her an aged, tired look. Her short, sparkly and pink dress rides up her thigh and even looks as if a strap is torn off. She looks like a complete mess. But at least she's talking, and at least she's aware. That has to be a good sign.

"All right," he says, worry laced in his words. He extends his hands toward her to pull her up, and she lazily meets his hands. 

It was a lot more difficult than it should have been, but Gemma's pulled out of the bed and is clinging to Harry's side as soon as she can. He wraps a firm arm around her waist and holds her up, and as they begin to walk, her feet start to drag. 

"Let me carry you," he softly says to her (as softly as he can over the music). 

She scoffs, but it sounds more like a choke. "And risk my dress riding up? Hell no. No one's seeing this arse unless I soberly flash it," she laughs out, her eyes unable to focus on his, though she's trying. 

Her dizziness is evident in her lack of balance and coordination, but she's able to move without going completely limp, so he tries to work with what he's got. They finally make it out of the room and into the rest of the house, where people are too busy getting high or drunk to care about the girl that almost died in the spare bedroom. And maybe Harry's being dramatic with that phrasing, but he feels like she could've been close to that. If she'd taken anything else, he's sure he wouldn't be trying to take her home right now. He'd probably be on his way to the hospital. 

And he isn't going to completely write that idea off yet. Considering she can barely hold herself up, that possibility could become more likely than he'd think.

He passes Steve in the entryway of the kitchen, his eyes on them with a frowned face. He nearly steps closer toward them, but Harry feels his face contort angrily, and whatever his face displayed, was enough to keep Steve from walking over.

"Someone punch that fucker for me!" He shouts behind himself.

"My pleasure!" Jenny shouts back.

He hears a group of people gasp, and then what sounds like glass colliding into the floor. A painful groan is soon followed, and that can only mean that Jenny followed through.

———

"Are you okay?" he asks his sister. His grip on the steering wheel tightens as he makes his way back home. Gemma's face is leaning against the cool window and she has yet to say a word about what's happened.

"M'fine," she mumbles tiredly. "I'm fucking fine." 

Harry frowns and glances over to her, watches as she squeezes her eyes closed, as she shivers ever so slightly, and as she clenches her hands tightly. He looks back to the road with a huff and nearly bites his tongue, but he can't. Not when she acted so dangerously. 

"You need—"

"I'm just tired," she interjects, her weak voice sounding as if she was on the verge of tears. "People don't see me, Harry. I'm just a useless body, you know?"

"Gem—"

"Like, I wanted to be a butterfly. They fulfill their purpose, and die when they're still beautiful. When they're youthful. They don't live long enough to see the bad. Isn't that wonderful?"

Harry swallows thickly and feels his mind race to try and cling to a coherent thought. He's known of her fascination for butterflies for a long time now, but he always thought it was because they're just pretty. Not because of their short life-span, and especially not when it's applied to herself in that way. His heart actually hurts when he thinks about her being so unhappy that she thinks like that. 

"I think you need some rest," Harry says, his voice obviously sounding hurt now knowing the truth about how she views herself. "You just need this stuff out of your system, and you'll feel better." 

She sighs and Harry can't look at her. He knows he'll just start crying if he looks over at her to see how broken she truly is.

"You'll be okay, Gemma. You hear me?" Harry asks, reaching over to find her hand to hold. She takes his hand weakly and he squeezes it tightly. Her hand is cold and small. When did she become so fragile? "You'll be okay."

———

It was a long night. His Mum, thankfully, wasn't in the living room when they got home last night. She didn't have to see Harry hoist Gemma up and carry her to her bedroom, or the way Harry slept on her bedroom floor to make sure she was okay during the night. He didn't sleep at all, and if he did, he'd doze off for a few minutes and then jolt awake from a nightmare of Gemma being in trouble. 

When he awoke, it was due to the sunshine casting through her windows. He frantically rushed around to get ready for his classes, all while doing check-ins on Gemma before finally leaving for school. She slept through the night peacefully, which he was highly grateful for. He'll just have to get away sometime in between classes to call the house and check up on her. Everything that happened over these past ten hours has just been a lot to take in and process. And he's exhausted, on top of it all. 

It's evident that his exhaustion shows when Niall approaches him with a shocked look on his face. 

"What the fuck, Harry! What happened to you last night?" 

He groans and wants to shove him, but is too tired to extend his arm out. "Shut up. It's been a long night," he huffs out. He leans against a set of lockers and shuts his eyes.

"Ooh," Niall suggestively says. "Someone got laid!"

Harry shoots his eyes open, a blush beginning to creep up onto his cheeks. "Absolutely not," he immediately says. "Just had a lot going on," he says instead. 

"Like losing your virginity?" Niall asks.

Harry releases a noise of disgust and pushes himself off the lockers. "I'm not talking to you." And maybe he's just grouchy from the sleepless night he had, but he really doesn't feel like talking to Niall about this. 

"Aw, come on! I'm just yanking your chain, mate!" Niall yells out as he comes running up beside him. 

He's looking as fashionable as ever, with a pair of dark green trousers and a plaid button-up shirt tucked into it. The plaid has that touch of green to tie into his pants, the sleeves of it short, and his shoes a sleek black pair. He looks expensive. Harry doesn't get how he has the energy to dress so nice for school, but then again, he probably would have if he wasn't so exhausted today. 

"You all right?" he asks, falling in step with Harry.

"Yeah," he mumbles, tugging on the strap of his school bag. "Gemma got caught up in some stuff last night. It was just...scary. Whatever. It's okay. She'll be fine."

"Shit, Harry, I didn't know that," he sincerely says, with a hint of guilt in his tone. "Is she okay?"

Harry nods and pauses in front of the door to his first class. "I think. I'm not really sure. It was just intense last night."

Niall nods and doesn't really say anything else. The bell saves him from having to speak and sympathize with him, so he nods goodbye and heads to his first class of the day. Harry lazily moves to his seat and plops down tiredly, trying to will himself to prepare for the long day ahead of him. And then tonight, with his lessons from Zayn. It's just gonna be a lot to power through.

———

And, as he thought, it was a long day. He'd called Gemma during lunch, and only lazy and unthoughtful replies were given. He may have badgered her with questions, asked if she felt ill at all, but she managed to talk her away around from actually answering him. She just sounded so empty and emotionless. It was an odd position to be in—Gemma's usually giving him the pep talks and energetic encouragements. She's the supportive older sister that's always around for advice. This is all new, all so different. 

He needs to call Louis.

But Liam will be at his house soon, and then Zayn will follow. He can't get away long enough to ring Louis and discuss the problems he's facing, and have his comforting and caring words soothe his mind. 

The doorbell rings before he can even think about giving Louis a quick call, and that settles that. He'll just have to do it later if he's not exhausted. 

"Harry!" Liam says happily once the door is opened. "Good to see you, mate!"

Harry steps to the side and welcomes him in with a forced smile. He softly shuts the door behind him and motions him with a nod of his head to follow him upstairs.

"How're you, Liam?" he questions, just to make small talk and to get his mind of his sister that's been shut in her room all day. She didn't want to see him when he got home.

"Good, good. Today dragged, huh? But of a bore, really."

He nods in agreement and instantly falls onto his bed once they've entered it. He inhaled deeply with his eyes pressed closed, feeling as if this is the first time he's been able to breathe all day. Throughout the the day it felt as if he was holding his breath and awaiting terrible news. It's been...tiresome. So tiresome.

"All right, mate?"

Harry nods. "Yeah, yeah. Just been a long day."

"I know," Liam agrees. "Olivia's a bit upset I couldn't see her tonight."

Harry's eyes opened at that. He'd nearly forgotten how strange their relationship seemed to be, and how different he becomes at the mention of Zayn. Harry can make sense of these mannerisms because he'd personally experienced them with Louis.

"Just tonight?" he questioned, slowly sitting up to look at him. He'd made himself comfortable in the chair by Harry's small desk. "Why?"

Liam visibly shrugs and sighs deeply. "She's clingy. It's fine, I quite like it, but it takes me away from you lot."

Harry watches as he speaks, watching the way his hands rub over his knees and how tense he suddenly seemed. He sighs deeply. "Do you like her?" he suddenly asks.

Liam looks taken aback by the question. "Do I like—"

"Harry! Your friend's here!" Anne shouts from downstairs.

Harry's slow to stand, but Liam instantly hops up energetically. He quirks his brow at his friend and nearly laughs, but holds himself back from doing so. Instead he leaves his room (and Liam) to greet Zayn and bring him to his bedroom. 

He looks as striking as ever, with his signature black leather jacket, white shirt, and light-washed jeans. Black boots matched his jacket, and to his surprise, a gold chain accompanied the attire around his neck. It's infuriating how handsome Zayn actually is without trying.

"Hey," Harry greets with a smile and nod of his head. He paused at the top of the stairs to wave him up. "All right?"

"I'm fine," he mumbles.

Zayn adjusts his grip on the guitar case before walking up the stairs, and Harry turns to lead him into his bedroom. He reaches for his guitar on the stand beside his bed, and takes a seat with a soft bounce of the mattress beneath him. He hadn't realized Zayn had stopped at the door until he looked up.

"Uh...come in?" Harry slowly said, brows raising. He then follows his gaze to Liam, who was still standing from his chair awkwardly. "Oh, yeah. Liam's here. Hope you don't mind."

Zayn clears his throat and slowly walks further into the room. "Nope," he simply says. He puts his case on the ground and unlatches it, soon grabbing his guitar out and sticking his pick in his mouth. "Where should I sit?" he asks, voice muffled due to the pick in his mouth.

“Oh, I'll move," Liam hastily says, his movements frantic as he moves to sit on the bed behind Harry. "Don't mind me!"

Zayn flicks his eyes between the two silently, and then finally sits down. "How about Johnson today? What a wacko," Zayn mumbles.

Harry looks at him in confusion (he doesn't know a Johnson) before he realizes he's talking to Liam. His eyes flick back to Liam, who's sitting with his legs crossed by his pillows.

"That's the perfect term for him," Liam agrees with a smile. "It's so hard to follow his lectures!"

Zayn smiles. Like, an actual smile. It's not one full of teeth and one that consumes his entire face, but a tight-lipped smile with a breath of air huffed out of his nose. Almost like a laugh. 

Harry blinks between the two in awe.

"He's a genius, don't get me wrong, but bloody insane, that one," Zayn says. He starts to casually pluck his strings softly, fingers twisting the tuners. "What was the shit about his cat? Like, what was that?"

Liam laughs a full on belly laugh. The bed slightly shakes. Harry still silently watches.

"Exactly! I wonder if he even knows what he's talking about!"

"Yeah," Zayn says, his lips parting to give an actual smile. There's barely any teeth, and it's so soft that it probably wouldn't be a smile if it were anyone else. Then he clears his throat and looks over at Harry with a straight face. "So, ready to pick up where we left off?"

Harry slowly nods and tries to conceal his smile. "Yeah. Should I show you what I've practiced?"

Zayn nods, so Harry takes the pick resting between the strings and the fretboard and forms a G chord over the strings before strumming softly. He's been practicing his rhythm, as well as smooth transitioning between chords. It's come fairly easy to him, as surprising as that sounds, so he's not as nervous to play in front of Zayn anymore.

He transitions between each chord without missing a beat, playing the song with a certain ease that makes him feel like he was meant to do this for the rest of his life.

"Wow, yeah, I've noticed a lot of improvement," Zayn says with a light tone to his voice. "I think we can move on to learning some harder stuff, yeah?"

Harry eagerly nods, suddenly feeling a lot more happier than he's felt all day. There's just something about playing music that helps release all the stress he's felt today. Feeling the strings under his fingertips and the sound of his guitar pick colliding onto the strings feels therapeutic somehow. 

They work on placement a bit more; Zayn noticed how his hand formed when it got tired, and suggested moving his thumb around to ease the tension and prevent cramping. He more than happily took the advice and applied it to his playing, and then tried to follow the new chords. He's got most chords figured out—only thing left is to learn barre chords, but he's definitely not there yet. He hasn't even learned how to pick the guitar. 

"Well," Zayn says, weaving his pick between his guitar strings. "You're a fast learner."

Harry actually grins. It feels so foreign to do so after this long, weighed down day. The night had rushed by now, and although it feels like they'd just started this lesson, it's almost been an hour.

An hour filled with banter between Liam and Zayn that, to say the least, shocked Harry. Zayn was someone who'd hardly let his guard down, but throughout the night, he and Liam kept a steady conversation. Even if it meant Harry was left hanging. It was fine, it gave him a lot of time to practice the new things being taught to him when he'd become distracted by Liam. He'll have to bring him along every Thursday if that's how it's going to be.

"We should get together to study sometime," Zayn says, his voice low and quiet. He stands to put his guitar away, and Harry's eyes nearly pop out of his head.

Liam looks just as shocked. He shifts around on the bed and untangles his legs, then stands with a wobble. He shakes his legs as if they were asleep the entire time, and nearly trips when he moves closer to Zayn. 

"Uh, yeah, sure. That would be nice. Then we could exchange notes that come from our crazy teacher," Liam casually says. 

Harry can't believe his ears. He wants to squeal on Liam's behalf, but poor Liam probably doesn't even understand what's going on. Also, Harry doesn't want to get ahead of himself and make assumptions. That wouldn't help anyone.

Harry clears his throat to cut through the tension their silent staring is creating. "Thank you for the lessons, Zayn!" he cheerily says. Fishing in his pockets for the cash, he then extends his hand out to give him the money for the lessons. Zayn takes it without a word, and flashes him a certain look with squinted eyes. Harry quirks a brow.

"Anytime. Harry, could I speak with you for a moment? To discuss your lesson?" He looks at Liam with an actual heartwarming smile.

Harry's brows immediately furrow. "Okay," he mutters, following behind Zayn when he exits Harry's room. "Did I mess something up?"

Zayn shakes his head and steps further into the hallway, away from Harry's open bedroom door. "No, no. I was just wondering about—about your friend."

Harry watches Zayn shift on his feet and can't help but be a little bit suspicious. "Liam? What about him?"

Zayn huffs and looks almost pained to be talking about this with him. His structured features contort for a moment, but then he exhales softly and leans against the wall. Like a fucking model. "Louis didn't tell you, but I know you know I'm not exactly... Uh, you know. My name is on the Jem's table. Of course you know."

Harry suddenly knows. Louis didn't tell him anything, but he assumed Zayn wasn't exactly "normal" since his name was there. He knows it wasn't his business, so he didn't pry. 

"I'm not, like, you know. Fuck, this is hard every time. I don't know why, you like boys, right? You're dating Louis," Zayn frantically speaks. Harry's never seen him so nervous before.

"Sh," Harry shushes. "Yeah, yeah."

"Well, I like both. Um." Zayn groans and scratches his jaw out of discomfort. Harry only furrows his brows. Both? "I can, like, you know, find a connection with anyone if it's there. Girl or guy. So there. Yeah. Now you know. I'm just telling you before I try with Liam, because I'm getting this—this feeling."

Harry listens to his words and finds himself nodding. He doesn't exactly know how to react, if Zayn's looking for a comforting hug (and, truthfully, he hopes not. That would actually be the most awkward thing ever), or an answer about Liam's state of mind. Harry can't speak for Liam.

"I know what you mean," he softly says. "I'm not sure what Liam's deal is, but I know he admires you. Even if that means he's not like us. At the very least, you'll gain one of the most loyal friends you could have."

Zayn scoffs, but is smiling. He's done an awful lot of that tonight. "No one's as loyal as Louis. But—" He starts, seeing as Harry was about to interject. "—Two loyal mates doesn't sound so bad."

Harry closes his mouth and nods with a smile, his arms crossing as he mimicked the way Zayn was leaning against the wall. "Thank you for telling me. For trusting me enough. That's, uh—yeah. That's a big deal."

Zayn scratches the back of his neck and avoids Harry's line of vision, obviously uncomfortable by the kinds words given. "Sure. Um, we should get back."

Harry agrees, and really, he can't keep the smile to himself. Together they walk back into his room, and his smile only widens. He's glad he's not crazy for thinking that Liam was acting different with Zayn—he himself actually noticed it! Maybe he's getting good at detecting these things now that he's fully honest with himself. Now that he's shown his heart to the boy he likes, he can be open to others. And maybe even try to help them.

Maybe he can help Gemma, too. She's just going through a rough patch, is all. There's possibly a way he can show her that life isn't about finding life and fullness by the guys she dates. It's a lot to take on, given all these secrets he's keeping, but his sister's mental health is a top priority. He'll try to help her find her passions, like he's doing with learning guitar. She just needs to get away from this cycle she's gone through for years of partying, dating terribly guys, and then inevitably crashing like a falling star. She's so much more than just a simple goddamn butterfly that barely lives for a week. She's Gemma. She's someone he can't live without, and last night gave him a glimpse into that scary future. If she continues going down this path, it might take her away from him. But he won't allow it. He'll do whatever it takes for her to be okay.

The telephone ringing downstairs pulls him away from his thoughts; he doesn't mean to leave Liam and Zayn in his room, but he does without a second thought. He's quick to lift the phone up to his ear with an exasperated huff.

"Hello?"

"My, Curly, sounds as though you've just run a marathon."

Harry smiles. Warmth suddenly fills his entire body. "Louis," he says, still smiling widely. "I have a lot to fill you in on."

"I'm all ears, babe. Continue, please."


	28. 27.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! i’m well aware i have typos and such. sometimes i’m in such a rush to post that my brain just doesnt keep up. i promise i’m not dumb just bear with me. i hope you’re all enjoying this story as much as i enjoy writing it
> 
> — k.p.

Louis' mouth is hot against his own. So inviting, so warm. It's hot and not at all like their sweet, soft kisses when they can finally be alone. This one's different, like that kiss they shared at the bakery. It's breathless and happening so fast that Harry's mind can't quite keep up with it all. Louis' hands are all over—his mouth, too.

Harry sharply inhales when he feels teeth over the discolored spot (that was almost healed!) on his neck, and finds his fingernails digging into the back of Louis' shoulders to find some stability. He exhales loudly with shut eyes when Louis' soft lips gently suck over that spot. He has to take his lower lip between teeth to keep certain noises from escaping his mouth.

"Louis," he says, breathless as ever and his voice very raspy. He has to keep his mind focused, though, because as wonderful as this is, he came over to talk.

But then Louis' mouth happened. And it's happening again, with sloppy kisses up his neck, to his jaw, and finally to his lips. Harry decides to be distracted for this moment—he's just so intoxicating that he has no other choice. His hands come up to Louis' jaw to hold him somehow, and to give his hands something to do. Their noses bumped when Harry moved his head to the side, and he would have giggled—almost did—but Louis decided to dig his fingernails into his back. His hands were underneath his shirt, caressing his back almost, before the sharpness of his nails came down and dragged. Harry jolted unexpectedly, arched his back (into the feeling or away—he wasn't sure), and released such a low noise he couldn't exactly describe what it was that came out of his mouth. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

That's embarrassing. 

He feels heat instantly on his cheeks and he opens one eye timidly to stare down at Louis. Did he mention he was on his lap? Because he was. It was nice—intimate. Then Harry had to wail like a fucking sea lion and ruin it all. Even if Louis was looking at him like he hung the moon, with flushed cheeks and bright eyes. Harry releases an embarrassing whine and covers his red cheeks with his hands—and in one clumsy motion, he tumbles off Louis' lap and onto the sofa cushion next to them.

"Harry? What's wrong?" Louis asks, voice all confused and sweet because he's an absolute dreamboat.

Harry lays his head back onto the armrest and plants his feet on the cushions to create a barrier between the two instead of answering him.

"Harry, what's the—" Louis cuts himself off with his own laughter. "You've turned into a turtle."

Harry groans and allows his hands to fall from his face, only to see Louis leaning over his knees, staring down at him. He rolls his eyes. "Don't compare me to an animal," he basically whispers. He's still embarrassed by his existence.

Louis' face softens immediately, his hand coming to rest atop his left knee, while his chin tucked onto his right. "It's actually a reptile." 

Harry somehow musters up enough energy to send him a deadly glare, and he has the audacity to laugh!

"Do you think you did something wrong?" Louis continues.

Harry groans loudly and throws his arm over his face, nose touching the crook of his elbow. 

"I thought it was rather hot, you know," Louis continues, to Harry's unenjoyment. "I like 'em loud."

Harry groans again, even releases a fake crying noise for dramatic purposes. "It's—God, it's just—" he sighs and removes his arm from his face. "Can we talk about something else?"

"No," Louis says. There's a smile creeping onto his face once Harry gives a displeased look, but then he starts to look more serious. "I'm not trying to embarrass you, Harry. I just want you to be comfortable enough with me to let go a little more. To give in."

Harry feels his brows scrunch in thought. He doesn't think that's what it was—was it? He's never done these things before Louis. He feels like letting an animalistic sounding moan echo throughout the house should be something to be embarrassed about, not celebrated.

"I gave in a long time ago," he says instead. Instead of letting his mind run wild of thoughts about his inner self, and if he's comfortable being so intimate. 

Maybe it's just the lack of experience talking. He'll get the hang of things—if not, Louis will definitely guide him there. It's not like he's being pressured into anything, or that he's not enjoying these moments. He's definitely enjoying them. He doesn't have the confidence yet to embrace himself in these situations, and that includes all pleasured noises. 

"To what?" Louis ponders, giving his knee a squeeze.

Harry shyly smiles and drops his right leg to place on his lap, which has Louis straightening up and sitting back to comply to the new position. 

"You," he softly says, allowing his eyes to drift away from Louis and to the large windows that display the backyard. 

The trees were going bare, leaves barely clinging to their branches during these cold months. December will be creeping up soon. It's his personal favorite time to be in, and this time, he has someone to share it with. For the first time in his life, he has a person to share an intimate moment with during these relationship centered holidays. It just makes him feel a little less lonely.

"Me?" Louis asks with his hand on his chest, almost as if he was surprised.

"Well." Harry sighs and looks back to Louis with a roll of his eyes. "Duh." 

"That's embarrassing," Louis says with raised brows.

Harry instantly frowns. What?

"You have a crush on me."

"Oh, my God, Louis!" Harry exclaims, his hand coming up to his shoulder. "Nearly gave me a heart attack!" 

Their laughter is cut short when the telephone rings out loudly. It sharply pierces through the lightness they'd created and replaces it with dread from having their safe space invaded. Louis' brow twitches into a furrow, the both of them not moving a muscle until Harry feels a tap against his shins. The unspoken question is answered once Harry removed his legs off Louis' lap and then watches as he makes for the telephone near the kitchen. He sits quietly and patiently, trying not to admit to himself that he's preparing to eavesdrop as soon as Louis greets the person on the other end of the line. It's probably Zayn.

"Hello?" Louis' voice carries out. "Oh, hi! Wonderful to hear from you."

Harry feels his brows draw in, as if it would help him focus on whatever Louis was saying.

"Tonight? Well, I think I'm available." There's a drawn out pause. "Absolutely! Seven? I'll be there."

Harry narrows his eyes in on the wall filled with photograph's arranged strategically, which made the space feel so welcoming and homely. Of course he's curious as to who's calling Louis and making, what sounds like, dinner plans. But he can't be shocked to find out that Louis has other mates. He has Zayn, and maybe someone around his age he's recently connected with. It should be good for him to get out and have fun. Harry's not jealous or anything, not overthinking about someone crushing on Louis and asking him out to dinner. No one knows he and Harry are interested in each other—he basically isn’t off the market to the public eye. 

It's fine. He's fine.

His thoughts, though escalated, don't evolve much further, because Louis' footsteps can be heard as he emerges around the corner with a mischievous look in his eyes. 

Harry swallows dryly in preparation. 

"What an interesting call," Louis says. He rests his hands on the back of the couch as he stares down at Harry expectantly. Louis then blinks when he doesn't say anything. "Very interesting."

Harry shrugs, feigning uninterest. "How so?'

Louis smiles and leans down. "Well, for starters, it was your mother."

Harry's face goes from uninterested to confused in a blink of an eye. "My—my Mum?" he stutters out, his heart pounding a bit harder in his chest. There's nothing to be afraid of—it's widely known that Harry's mother is fond of Louis. It's just strange for her to be calling.

"Yes. She invited me over for dinner."

Harry nervously begins to bite his lower lip, tearing his gaze away from Louis and down to the sofa in thought. "Why?" he asks, more to himself than to Louis. But then he looks up and asks again. "Why? What else did she have to say?"

"Asked if you were 'round mine if you could stop by the grocer's to pick up some lettuce and tomato," Louis casually says. 

He doesn't appear worried in the slightest. Of course, Harry always assumes the worst and now thinks his Mum somehow has found out about them and is instead calling for dinner plans to create this big scheme she has brewing up. 

Fuck. If his mind could take a breather, he'd wish it would—starting now.

But back to those thoughts: It's ridiculous. His mother isn't the scheming type—she's the loving type. She's probably trying to check in on Louis and cooking up a meal is her way of doing that. Because as much as Harry stresses about things, his Mum shouldn't be one of them. Especially when she's the kindest person on the face of the planet.

He takes a breath and can actually feel himself calm down, replying to Louis with a nod. "Yeah. All right. Anything else?"

Louis softly smiles and brushes his knuckles against Harry's cheekbones, eyes trailing over his face as if he was reading a scene out of his favorite book. "Yeah. She said to get your ass home. I added the ass part," Louis smiles out. "Feels more dramatic."

Harry hums lightly when his hand travels to his hair, fingertips grazing at his scalp gently. He feels his eyes flutter from the soft touch and can't help but lean into Louis' hand. "Fine," he quietly says, eyes slowly opening. "Kiss me before I go," he basically whines out.

And so he does. It's as gentle as ever—just a soft placing of lips without much movement or intention to deepen it further. It's sweet and casual, as if they've been at it for so long that it's just become a habit. It's rather nice.

"All right," Harry exhales out once they pull away. He goes to stand and reaches for his coat folded over the sofa. "See you for dinner, I guess!"

"Yeah," Louis nods with a smile, the tip of his thumb rubbing over his lower lip. "But before you go, you said you wanted to tell me something, right?"

Harry pauses after putting his coat on, eyes faltering and breaking contact as soon as he mentions it. He sighs deeply; it was his reasoning of coming over. He announced it as soon as he walked through the doors because he knew he'd get distracted, but then they cozied up together on the couch and then... Well, he just got distracted. 

He sighs again.

"It's a lot," Harry says. He doesn't really feel like bringing it up and ruining their light-hearted afternoon, but he's sure the topic will come up at dinner. 

"What do you mean?" Louis questions, his brows pinching together. 

The couch still separates the two, which makes Harry feel a bit better. No chance of sympathy hugs. 

"It's Gemma," he starts, eyes darting to the rug. He toes the tip of his boot over the rug and drags its back and forth. "She's just going through stuff. Almost, like, overdosed, basically." His words are quick once he's speaking. He just doesn't like talking about it. "She's okay, but—but not. She's hurting." He looks up at Louis to see him worriedly staring at him. "She's hurting really bad."

Louis sighs so deeply that his shoulder move with the breaths. His hand comes up to shake through his fringe almost nervously. "I'm sorry, Harry. I hate that for her and you. Are you okay? How long ago was this?"

Harry shrugs and stuffs his hands into his pockets. "Couple nights ago. I just couldn't talk about it over the telephone—Mum likes to linger. And it felt like a conversation to have, like, face-to-face."

"Harry," Louis says, in a very serious tone that has him looking up at him immediately. "Don't think for a second I'm the type of guy that needs to know everything as soon as they take place. Life is shit, and people deal with things differently. Don't think you have to fill me in on every detail just because we're going steady, okay? Talk to me when you can. I don't want there to be any pressure."

Holy shit. Did Louis just—did he just... He can't even complete a sentence in his own head! It's not the time to make a big deal about things, not when they're discussing something so serious. But Louis said they're going steady, and when the fuck did that happen? He's never been in a bloody relationship before—did he miss the moment where Louis asked him? 

Does Harry officially have a boyfriend?

"Go pick up your lettuce and tomato before your Mum calls again," Louis laughs out, not giving Harry a chance to speak.

Harry feels like he's gone mad. Would it be terrible to ask if they're official? What if he spaced out when Louis asked him, and so when he asks about it, Louis gets upset and doesn't want to be with someone that doesn't listen well?

He's aware he's stupid, which is why no one should ever invent a contraption that reads thoughts. He'd for sure be put in a mad house.

"Okay," he half-heartedly says, his mind clearly elsewhere. "Uh, see you tonight!" He plasters a smile on his face and makes for the front door, but as he goes, he spends every second racking his brain to figure out when Louis asked him to be his boyfriend. 

He thought he'd at least remembered this monumental moment of his life!

———

"Thank you, love," Anne says.

Harry flashes a smile and hands the sack of food to her. He tugs off his coat and hangs it up, feeling almost dizzy from all that's taken place in such a short amount of time.

"I see you were at Louis'," his Mum says. 

Harry instantly lifts his head to give her a long look to see if her expression was one of distaste or nonchalance. She seemed content and distracted as she whisked at something in a bowl. Maybe she was just making conversation.

"Yeah," he softly says as he eases his way back into the kitchen.

"I like him," she says with a single nod. She looks up for a split second to give him a smile. "Sweet boy—very respectful and kind! I'm glad you've befriended him. He's a good influence on you." She stops whisking to look up with a fond look on her face. "For him to take you all the way to London! Never got the chance to properly thank him. I hope he likes ham."

Harry's beaming now. For her to say such kind things about Louis made his heart swell. It only reaffirmed his beliefs about Louis being the most wonderful guy he could have ever asked for.

"Oh, Harry!" His mother gasps. "What the hell is that!" 

Harry's eyes instantly widen, his hand darting up to the freshly re-bruised spot on his neck, thanks to Louis. He feels his face drain from all color. 

"Had a bike accident," he quickly says, eyes still wide. "Hit a large rock and fell off. Got a bit bruised up."

His Mum stares at him with a bored expression, and then she rolls her eyes before going back to whisking vigorously. "I'm not a fool," she says. "I know what boys your age are up to with their girlfriends. I just hope you're being careful because I don't want little—"

"Mum!" Harry says out of shock. 

This is the last thing he wants to talk about with his mother. Let alone the idea she has of him fucking girls—and, God! Jenny! She doesn't know of their split—no one does, actually. He hadn't exactly gotten around to telling everyone in his life about his fake breakup from his fake relationship. It was just overwhelming, and he'd rather spend what free time he had with Louis. 

"Just tell me if...have you?" Anne questions, to Harry's dissatisfaction.

He huffs and leans against the counter, his cheeks filling with color (he can only assume) as it heats up. It's embarrassing. "No," he says quietly, eyes shifting downward. He huffs once more for dramatic reasons, and then pushes away from the counter. "I'm gonna go see Gemma. Let's not talk about sex ever again, please."

Anne laughs and turns at once to wave her whisk at him. "It's natural, Harry!" 

"Mum, please!" he shouts back once he's on the stairs. He refuses to talk about sex with his own mother, let alone how he's still a virgin. There has to be a line drawn somewhere! 

He feels his shoulders hunch as soon as Gemma's door is within his eyesight. Any conversation which took place before suddenly doesn't bother him—only hopes of his sister being in a better state of mind are in his thoughts. He's hesitant in his actions, but he still knocks lightly against the door. She'd been holed up ever since her night out, only coming out for the bathroom or to get a little bit of food. His Mum thought she was just going through her emotional episodes again, but she doesn't know the actual reasoning behind it. Sure, Gemma's known to let her sensitive side consume her, but this is something else entirely. 

"What?" her voice calls out tiredly.

Harry takes that as "come in," so he does. The room is eerily dark and cold, though the heat's been running all day. He looks around the room at once to try and find the cause of it, and soon gets his answer when wind lightly blows over him. Her windows are all open. And then he sees her, bundled up in blankets and a sweater, and his heart breaks a little more. He doesn't move further into the room, too afraid to set her off in a negative way. He doesn't want to overstep.

"How are you?" he quietly asks, though it's evident in her surroundings. She's not doing good.

She scoffs and pulls her legs up to her chest, her back against the headboard. "Just swell."

Harry nods and folds his arms over his chest to try and stop from shivering. "It's freezing in here, Gem," he softly says. "Can I close the windows? You're going to get sick."

"No," she hastily says. There's a sadness in her voice, replacing the monotonous words she'd spoken before. She clears her throat. "It helps."

He sighs and tries to get his eyes to adjust to the darkness, allowing them to flit over the room without much meaning. "Louis' coming over for dinner," he says, hoping she'd react to it. Anything would be better than nothing.

"Is he?" she asks, her tone going back to uninterested. "That's nice."

Harry hums in agreement, then decides to edge closer to her bed. The situation reminds him of his Mum when she was dealing with what their Dad had done. She looks like Mum, even if she refuses to acknowledge it. She's beautiful like her—Harry's tried telling her this, but she won't have it if it equates to also giving their Mum a compliment.

"I think you should come down and join us," he says, slowly moving to sit at the corner of her bed. She rests her chin on her knees and shrugs. "Louis loves you. It would be nice to have you there—get to know Louis more."

He can see her roll her eyes. "Yeah, get to know your boyfriend, but hide that fact in front of Mum? You two would be too obvious. I'm good here."

Harry gapes pointlessly and fishes around for his words. "I—I just—" he rubs at his nose. "Okay," he says with a nod. 

"Jesus, Harry," she laughs out. "You can fight with me on that! Disagree with me. Tell me I'm being stupid."

Harry furrows his brows and shakes his head. "Why would I—"

"Just go. Please." She shifts and raises the blankest up to her shoulders, body hunching down lower into the bedsheets. "Shut the door on your way out."

He sighs loudly—dramatically. He's trying to make it known that he's not happy about this, about her seemingly giving up on everything and everyone. All he can do is come back tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after, until she realizes she's not someone worth giving up on. Anyone in their right minds can see that.

"Be carefully, Harry," she says once he's stood up and reached the door. "Don't let Mum get an inkling about you two."

Harry gives her a long look. Watches her squeeze her eyes shut and then roll onto her side, away from him. There is hope. Her love for him, and vice versa, is hopefully enough to hold on to. 

———

Harry changed into something more appropriate for dinner. His comfiest flared jeans with a brown sweater to keep him warm—and, yeah, he thinks he looks rather good. And he wanted to wear something different for Louis. 

His stomach twists with nervousness and excitement all in one, and he can't help but recall the first time Louis was invited over for dinner. Those things he felt for the first time and didn't understand. The butterflies he felt when Louis even looked at him. He still gets that feeling, but now, it isn't some foreign experience. Or one he thinks he should stuff down and avoid.

He's just fixed a piece of his hair when the doorbell echoes throughout the house. He takes a breather to calm his nerves; he has to act normal. Louis is just a great friend tonight—nothing more. He can't act like he's anything more than that.

And, fuck, what does that mean? He suddenly forgets how he acts around Niall and Liam to compare how he should act tonight! This is a terrible idea. He can't do this. He should ask Louis to leave, because seeing Louis would just make him feel so overwhelmed (as usual), and he can't—

"Harry."

Never mind. He can.

He turns at once with a bitten smile. Louis' standing by his opened door with the most luxurious looking brown, suede jacket and matching trousers. He's sporting a black turtleneck underneath, and he's fucking posing, with his hand in his pocket and a hip jutted to the side. 

Louis Tomlinson is going to be the death of him.

"Louis," he says, surprise all in his voice. He's even done that new thing with his hair, where he swoops it up to the side ever so slightly. It keeps the hair out of his eyes and forehead. It's wonderful.

"You look dashing," he says with a smile, entering the room slowly. "Your Mum told me to come fetch you." His words are slow as he reaches out to quietly shut the door behind him. "I think I had to use the loo before stopping by, though, so you might be a little late."

Harry's eyes widen with excitement, the feeling bubbling lowly in his stomach and making his knees tremble. Louis looks delicious—that's the only correct word for it. He wants to throw himself at him. Maybe it's his teenage hormones getting in the way, or the clicking sound of Louis locking the door, but he feels like a wild animal that's about to lunge at its prey.

Fuck it.

He's quick to it without hesitation in the slightest. He throws his arms around Louis' shoulders and attacks his mouth with his own; neediness is evident in the way he's desperate for Louis' mouth, and in the way he's kissing him so deeply and intently. Louis' hands go to his hips not a moment later, and he copies Harry's desperation without missing a beat. He's quick to catch on, and quick to push him back until the back of his legs hit the bed unexpectedly.

It's then he pulls away to look down, and as soon as he looks back up, Louis' hands are at his chest to push him down onto the bed at once. Harry complies, feels the bed bounce underneath him, and can't help but gasp against Louis' mouth after he crawls on top of him.

"Louis," he whines out against his mouth, his hands clasping together at the back of his neck. It's taking a lot to hold himself back from tugging his hair—he doesn't want to ruin it.

Louis shifts a certain way over his lap, and it wasn't intentional, but Harry almost let the loudest noise out of it wasn't for the mouth on his. And then Louis' pulling away with a certain look in his eye, and a teasing smile on his lips, and Harry's beginning to think the shift of his hips wasn't an accident.

And then he just—he just fucking crawls off of him and adjusts his jacket. As if it was nothing.

Harry leans up on his elbows, watching as Louis pulls his trousers down around his crotch with ease and a proud smile on his mouth. He's looking intently at something, and as Harry follows his gaze down his own body, he sees why. 

"Can't keep her waiting too long," he casually says. He leans over once he spots Harry's mirror and runs his fingers through his hair. "How unprofessional of you," Louis voices with a shake of his head. "Take care of your little problem, then come see us. Don't be too long."

Harry watches Louis leave with surprised eyes, and once he's shut the door behind himself, he falls back onto the bed with a blank mind. It just all happened so bloody fast, and then—and then he just... Left? He groans and almost goes to sit up, but then remembers his little problem. He frowns and shuts his eyes, trying to will himself to think of anything else. 

Wet socks, failing school, a girl. 

Ah. That did it.

———

He joins his Mum and Louis a few minutes later. His hair was the biggest mess to fix, but once he's down, he's surprised to enter a kitchen filled with laughter and such ease. Louis doesn't look like he'd just attacked him upstairs which is almost unbelievable. Harry's still got red cheeks that he couldn't get to calm down.

"Harry! About time!" Anne says through her laughter. She pulls something out of the oven and turns to give him a heartwarming smile. "Rather rude to keep our company waiting, but I see you've changed outfits, so I'll let it slide."

Harry softly smiles and glances over at Louis rather quickly. He was watching Anne fumble around to get all the food on the table, and offering to help with sweet smile that any mother would love. 

"No, Harry can help. Harry!" She calls him over and motions to the table to help her out.

Louis smiles as if he's about to laugh, and watches as Harry spreads out plates and silverware while she frantically puts the ham and other food items on the table.

"Sorry this wasn't already set up. But, now that it is, please take a seat!" She happily says.

Harry grabs three wine glasses and puts them by each plate, soon taking a seat once he feels all of his duties were completed. He should have set the table differently, now that he's looking at it. He set it as he normally does for dinner every night, with two plates on one side of the table, and one plate directly across. He didn't think that his Mum would probably like to sit at the head of the table with company here. But maybe he's thinking too much into it since Louis' around. 

"Everything looks lovely, Anne," Louis says with a kind smile. "It's been so long since I've had a meal like this!"

Harry, seated beside Louis, watches him with his brows drawn in. He doesn't have his own Mum to make him his favorite meals, and he goes out to eat most of the time. Harry hates he doesn't have something as simple as this.

"Well, you should definitely come over more often," she says. Her eyes fall on Harry with a scowl. "Harry, where are your manners?" Her hardened eyes stare at the food, then back at him. 

He sighs. "Sorry," he mumbles out. Louis looks as if he's about to laugh (again) when he stands and takes his plate to fill up with food. His Mum always said that it's polite to treat guests as highly as possible, and that means making their plates and catering to their needs. It just sort of slipped his mind.

"Oh, thank you," Louis says.

Harry scoops up one too many roasted potatoes onto his plate, then goes for the sautéed green beans. They're his personal favorite that his Mum makes—made with a touch of peanut butter and crushed peanuts to give it a nutty taste. It's not overpowering, but just the right amount of flavor. Then he carefully sets a slice of ham on the plate, and next to that, a roll. A side salad is already prepared in a bowl next to him. He doesn't look at Louis' face when he hands him the plate, and then goes to make his own.

"So, you and Harry have become good friends, haven't you?" Anne asks, tone still polite. 

Louis nods out of the corner of his eye. "Yes. He's been quite helpful to me with the redecoration of my home and such. You've raised a smart, kind lad."

Harry's face instantly heats up. He's afraid Louis' saying too much, but when he looks over at his Mum, she's just beaming back at him with pride. Maybe Louis' better at this than he's giving him credit for.

"That's my boy. He's always been the helpful, kind type. Such a big heart." Harry rolls his eyes. "And he told me you've let him borrow your father's guitar. I can't tell you how much that means to him."

Harry leans back against his chair and huffs dramatically. "Mum," he whines out softly. 

"He's told me," Louis says with the most adorable smile. 

It's all innocent and an act, of course, because behind that smile is a guy thinking of ways to make Harry act up. With the unexpected graze of fingers, and then a full on grasp and squeeze of his thigh. Harry's eyes go wide for just a second, before he's able to gain control over his features. Louis runs his hand up and down the spot of his inner thigh, softly and teasingly. Then he pats over it lightly before removing his hand altogether.

Harry can't help but turn and just blink at him. Louis takes a bite of his food and acts clueless to the soft touching, his eyes remaining on his mother.

It's going to be a long night.


	29. 28.

"I think you should be the honorary photographer at the school," Anne raved on, her emotions much more relaxed due to the glasses of wine she's chugged down.

"Oh, you're far too kind," Louis modestly says, his hand over his upper stomach. He's shyly smiling and Harry finds it so endearing. 

"Have you been able to find much work here?" She continues to pester.

Harry sighs and almost asks her to stop being so nosy, but the hand that's toyed with his thigh for the evening found its way back once again. His thumb rubbed over Harry's thigh, fingers digging into the inner part almost harshly. His mind instantly fogs over and he fumbles with his fork, drops it, and instead downs the rest of his wine.

"I've actually got a few things booked. Some Christmas things in the works for some people I've met. I figured the park would work fabulously," Louis calmly says, his shoulders relaxed as he leans back against his chair.

"Oh, Louis, that's wonderful!" Anne excitedly says. She places her elbows on the table and leans against it. "You should decorate a tree there. Oh! Take our photos!" 

Harry's brows furrow.

"You have to. This year has been—excuse my language, dear, but it's been absolute shit."

Harry snorts of out surprise and moves his left hand down to cover the one still one his thigh. Louis' finger twitches underneath his hand, almost as if he was surprised by the action.

"A nice photograph of this family would do some good. Without Del. I would like some to hang around the house," she continues, her eyes trailing up in thought.

Harry goes from smiling to serious all too fast and knows that she needs this more than she's letting on. 

"We'll have to set aside some time," Louis says, matching the seriousness in the air. He removes his hand from Harry's thigh and folds his hands together to place on the table. "I'm free next Saturday, and I think there's a slot in the afternoon on Sunday where I'm available."

Harry watches the two interact with such ease, watches as his mother's eyes light up when speaking to Louis about these things. She really does love and admire him—Harry can't help but think that, if this was a perfect world, and he could just be himself without worrying about judgement from others, his Mum would be elated about Louis being his first unofficial boyfriend. Because, yeah, he's not assuming Louis meant what he said about them going steady. He would have remembered the official asking of that. He just...accidentally said it.

"I didn't know you were taking someone's photos," Harry says, voice soft and slow. Casual.

Louis looks over at him with a friendly smile. "Just work," he says with a shrug. "Met a few parents at the dance. And from your Mum introducing me to other people."

Harry quickly looks over to his mother. "Mum, you have?"

Anne only shrugs and finishes topping off her wine. "Yeah. Thought the girls should know more about him."

Harry slowly nods and relaxes himself more. Louis' not obligated to tell him all these things—it's ridiculous to think so. Of course Louis should be working and taking pictures—he just thought the topic would have come up by now. 

"I'll start cleaning up," Harry says, standing with a smile as he gathered his and Louis' plate up in his hands. He emptied what was left on them in the trash, then placed them in the sink. 

He repeated these actions until most of the table was cleared, careful to not disrupt their conversation about Christmas photoshoot ideas. He had started putting leftovers in the fridge, wrapping the whipped chocolate dessert up, and then moving onto the dishes. Anne finally dismissed herself from the table to use the bathroom, and not too long after, he felt a surprising squeeze of his hips that had him jumping unexpectedly.

"Louis!" he seethed out of his teeth, turning with his sponge in hand. "Stop it," he quietly says, eyes going wide.

Louis smiled and leaned against the counter beside him, soon grabbing a kitchen towel off the countertop to lazily swat at Harry's backside with. "You seem off."

Harry went back to scrubbing the plate clean with his brows drawn in tightly together. "I do not."

"You do," Louis continues. "Tense and quiet."

"Dry this," Harry mumbles as he passes him a plate. Louis takes it without another word. "I'm not tense."

He hears the plate lower against the counter, but he's too focused on his scrubbing to pay much mind to how well Louis' dried off the dishes. But then he feels fingertips graze over his shoulders, followed by a rough squeeze with force that took Harry by surprise. He visibly tensed, he'll agree with that, but only because he wasn't expecting Louis' hands to start rubbing into his shoulders.

"You are," Louis persistently says, thumbs digging into the spot where his neck meets his shoulder. "I can feel it."

"I—I—" He starts, words fumbling, and sponge tumbling out of his hands and into the soapy water. He'd be lying if he said it didn't feel nice.

"You should come to mine later. I'll work these tense shoulders out—been told I've got magical hands," Louis says, his tone teasing yet playful. 

Harry slightly laughs. "Is that what the mum's from school have told you?"

Louis' hands falter, the massaging coming to a pause, before he slowly starts to move his hands down the length of Harry's arms. A chin then tucks onto his shoulder, Louis' hands atop Harry's as he tangles their fingers together. They're probably too close for comfort with Anne still home.

"So, that's what this is about," he sighs out. "You think I'll leave you for some cougar."

Harry laughs at the ridiculous thought and leaned further back into Louis. He can't help it. "I don't think that in the slightest."

Louis sighs even louder. "Tell me, Harry." His mouth attacks his exposed shoulder where the sweater's pulled down, then suddenly finds his earlobe with an experienced sucking motion that makes his knees tremble. "C'mon," he whispers.

"L-Lou," he quietly says, pulling his hands out of Louis' and quickly moving away from his distracting mouth. They need to distance themselves in case his Mum makes an appearance. "You're getting bold."

Louis shrugs and picks up the towel again. "Just pushing my limits. It's fun."

He scoffs, even though he's amused. "You're insane!"

"Harry, that's not very nice," Anne says. She walks into the kitchen and gives them both a smile at the two cleaning. 

"Oh, I deserved it," Louis casually says, taking the plate Harry handed him with a grin. "Didn't I?"

"Yeah," he grumbled. "You did."

———

"Well, I am just beat," Anne says with a yawn. 

All of them had gathered into the living room for small talk—he was surprised at how well Louis and his Mum could carry a conversation, and how enjoyable it was for them to get along. It had been all three of them going on about little things for maybe an hour now, and Harry's loved every moment of it.

Louis doesn't have a mother to talk to like this. Maybe Harry should invite him over for dinner's more often.

"Harry, Louis, don't let me keep you from your night. Stay as long as you'd like, Louis," she says with such a genuine smile that it melts his heart. Louis stands to hug her and give her a kiss on the cheek. "You're welcome over anytime."

"Thank you, Anne," he softly says, holding her away at arms length. "That means a lot."

They hug once more before she departs to her bedroom; the both of them look at one another in silence before Louis motions with a flick of his head for him to come over to him. Harry does without a word, but soon tilts his head in confusion when his hand is grabbed and as he's being tugged to the stairs.

"Louis," he lowly says, confused, but going with it. They walk up the stairs hand-in-hand until they reach Harry's door. "What?"

"Come on," Louis says as he opens the door. He doesn't walk in, just expectantly stares at Harry.

"Uh, all right," he mumbles, walking inside. He hears Louis shut the door behind them. "What now?"

Louis cackles and basically tackles the bed with childlike joy, flopping onto his back with a wide smile. "Don't be a dork. Just come over here and be with me." He adjusts himself immediately, now sitting with his back against the pillows with the softest of smiles. "I like your room."

Harry follows his eyes when they look over the yellow walls; he then starts to inch closer to the bed hesitantly. He's not sure if Louis has hidden motives or not, but either way, he gets on the bed and joins him at his side. Both of their backs rest against his pillows, the two of them sitting up, and their shoulders touching.

"Why yellow?" Louis asks, his eyes still on the walls. "Why is it your favorite color?"

Harry stares at his walls and releases a deep sigh, mind and heart racing as he prepares himself. "It's, like, bright," he slowly says, still trying to find his words. "Happy. It makes me feel nice when I see it—calms me almost. I painted it yellow because this was the only place I felt safe, and I wanted it to represent the good I felt. I wanted to take something I loved and display it without being ashamed of it." He takes a long pause, his brows tightly furrowed, and his thoughts running wild. It's hard to pinpoint the exact moment when this color became so important to him, because over time, it developed into so much more than what it simply is.

"I think you're yellow," he says, brows still furrowed, and eyes still glued to the wall. "It's obvious, the more I think about it. You make me feel all these things and so much more." He takes another pause, afraid he's speaking too boldly and too transparently. But he can't help it—every moment he spends with him becomes clearer and clearer, and he can't bear keeping it inside. "You're the color yellow, Louis."

And he's done it. He's said too much and he can't even take it back. He's afraid to look at Louis, because from the lack of words he received, he's not sure what emotions he'll be met with. But he swallows thickly and does it quickly to get it over with; he looks at Louis and instantly feels his heart fall into the lowest part of his stomach. Was it something he said? Did he say something wrong? He can't help but stare, unsure of what to do and unsure of what Louis needs.

Because he's crying.

And he's so quiet and maybe trying to hide it with his head tilted down, but he clearly raises a hand to wipe at his eyes. He sniffles loudly, lifts his head, and leans it against the wall with a huff.

"Uh," he says, voice shaky and low. He blinks his eyes open and more tears tumble forward, but he's quick to wipe them. "Fuck, sorry," he mumbles.

Harry shakes his head and reaches for his hand in that instant, threading his fingers through Louis', and squeezing tightly. "Did I say something wrong?" he whispers out, afraid to even speak too loudly. 

"No, you didn't," he replies, voice still shaky. He sniffles again and shakes his head as if to shake the emotions away. "It's just incredible to know I can mean that much to someone. Me."

"Louis," he starts, shocked. "Of course you mean that much to me. You've brought me so much joy and you've helped me accept myself. I thought I'd have to live this separate life forever—to fake everything until maybe I believed it. God, Louis, you're everything."

Louis takes his hand out of Harry's to grasp at his sweater and pull him to his chest. He blinks fast, feeling the way Louis wraps an arm around his back to hold him close. Words aren't needed, only the feeling of needing to be so close otherwise one of them might fall apart. 

There's damage to Louis that Harry hasn't quite seen until now—didn't realize how broken they both are until they're clinging to one another as if the world might slip away if they didn't. Louis talks as if no one ever treated him nicely, or ever truly cared for him. It's possibly from the toxic family home, or the toxic relationship—or maybe something else entirely. He's not sure. But if telling Louis these things everyday starts to repair him and break down these walls he's surrounded himself in, then that's what he'll do.

It's with his head on his chest, his leg tucked between Louis', and his left hand resting on his shoulder, that he's asleep within thirty minutes. The soft stroking of his hair coaxed him there easily, along with the gentle rubbing of his back. He didn't have the strength to fight the sleep, nor did he want to.

———

His own snoring is what woke him up. Slowly he rubbed his eyes open, a groan tumbling past his lips not a moment later. His neck ached, and as he went to rub it, his eyes shot wide open, a loud gasp tumbling past his lips.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he grumpily says, looking at the dead-asleep Louis beneath him. Somehow during the night he'd gone from sitting up, to laying down, all while keeping Harry on top of him. Which is why his neck hurt horribly—Louis isn't exactly the most comfortable person to lay on. No cushion for his head.

"Harry!" a shout sounded out, followed by a pounding on the door.

Louis groaned underneath him and then started to stretch, but then the pounding on the door continued, and his eyes shot wide open.

"Fuck," he tiredly said.

Harry rolled off him and started to push his side, trying to get him to hide on the floor by the bed before his Mum came charging in. She'd soon realize the door is unlocked and won't waste anytime whatsoever.

"Hide!" he harshly whispered when he wasn't moving fast enough. His foot got caught in the bedsheets, but Harry swore he heard the jingling of his doorknob, so he forcefully pushed him off the bed without another thought. A loud thud echoed out, and then his door squeaked open. "Mum!" he annoyingly says, now laying on his back as fast as he could. "What's your problem?"

Anne looked at him with a puzzled look. "Harry, you're sleeping in your clothes from yesterday." She inches forward slowly.

"What do you want?" he asks, trying to get her to leave as soon as possible. "Just was too knackered to change."

She nodded and then pointed out the door. "Louis' car is still here. Is something wrong with it?"

The color drained from his face, eyes blinking swiftly as he tried to think of an excuse. "Uh, his—it just got cold last night. Um, wouldn't start. He—he, uh... I drove him home. He'll be back later to pick it up."

"Oh," she thoughtfully says, nodding. "All right. Hate that for him. Well, sorry for waking you. But—take a shower. You look rough, darling."

Harry rolls his eyes and throws his head down onto the pillow, his heart pounding against his chest and not calming until she shuts the door behind herself as she leaves.

"All clear," he lowly says with a shake of his head.

Louis' head pops up a second later, his hair adorably tussled atop his head and falling messily around his eyes. His eyes are slightly puffy from just waking up, his face pale and his eyes a sharp, clear blue. 

"That was close," he says, slowly getting up, only to fall back onto the bed. He flops around until he's laying his head on Harry's stomach and digging his knee in between his legs. 

Harry's a little surprised by the sudden actions and slowly lowers his hand to place over the nape of his neck to caress softly. "Yeah," he agrees. "Uh, sorry I fell asleep. You could have pushed me off and left."

Louis presses his thumb into Harry's hipbone where his shirt is raised at, then rubs soft circles around it. "It's okay. You're cute when you sleep," he hums out. He then sighs and leans up with his hand pressed into the bed to support himself, a playful smile on his lips as he stares down at him. "You're cute now."

Harry must look crazy. His hair is always a mess when he wakes up—it's a downside of having such long hair—and he's worried he may have disgusting morning breath. It's hard for him to believe he looks cute right now, but with the loving look on Louis' face, he nearly does. It's also a lot to deal with when he stares so intensely and closely.

"You should probably be on your way, you know," he quietly says with a slight pout. "Before she comes back up or calls your home."

"Fuck, Harry," he groans out, leaning down rather quickly and placing his lips against Harry's. It's a quick sucking of lips, one that lingers on his lower lip and even tugs it when he pulls away. "Stop being so goddamn pretty."

"Whatever," he laughs out in disbelief. "I'm definitely not at this time of day."

"Harry, don't make me—"

"Harry, where have you—Oh, my God!" Gemma says out of shock, her mouth parting as she stares at the two. She slaps her own hand over her mouth with a shake of her head. "What the fuck is this!" she whisper-shouts, gesturing between the two.

"Shut the bloody door!" he says, matching her tone of voice. She does without another word and walks closer to the bed, her eyes still wide. "Gemma, leave!"

"Why is he here? Unless... Harry, did you—did you and Louis—?"

"NO!" Harry shouts, cheeks filling with color. He covers his face with his hands and wants to scream and cry at the same time. "We just accidentally fell asleep. Nothing else. Please, Gem, leave us be."

She snorts and plops herself down at the edge of the bed, her hair tangled and wild, her clothes messy and almost sloppy looking. It's evident she hasn't left her bed in a few days. "No way. This is the most entertainment I've had all week."

He huffs and feels the bed shake; his hands drop, and as he looks up, he sees Louis' moved into a sitting position.

"Wanna help me sneak out the door?" he asks her, smiling hopefully.

She instantly grins. "Oh, do I! Grab your shit, Tomlinson, and get ready to see the best acting of your life."

Harry groans and sits up with haste, his hand flying to Louis' wrist to keep him still. "I don't like this. Just wait around, Mum'll be going out soon. It's a Saturday—she either shops or works at the bakery."

"Harry, I have to leave for an appointment with the Peterson's today. He and his family asked for a few photos to be taken at noon." Louis lifts his hand and brushes his fingers through Harry's matted hair, then sweeps a strand of it behind his ear. "Sorry, babe."

Harry feels his insides melt a little, and he suddenly can't find the willpower to argue. He simply nods and flutters his lashes when a chaste kiss is placed on his cheek, and then watches the two conspire quietly as they head to the door. They're nodding and smiling and not taking it seriously enough, which scares him a bit, but then Louis turns and sends a wink his way, and all is right in the Styles household again. 

"Wait," Harry says, a thought suddenly popping into his head. "Louis."

Louis turns with raised brows. "Yeah?"

He looks at Gemma (who's watching Harry) and knows this isn't the time to ask now. He just wanted to know if Louis meant what he said about them going steady—if they're actually official in that way. It seems like they've skipped so many steps when they decided to have a sleepover, but for now, that question has to wait. 

"Um, just—good luck. See you soon?"

Louis grins and nods. "Yeah. See you soon."

Harry jumps when Gemma throws open the door and shouts, "MOTHER!" at the top of her lungs. Louis snickers to himself and waits as Gemma basically throws herself down the stairs (he can hear every bump and thud); his Mum loudly gasps and shouts at Gemma for scaring her. Not a moment later, Louis' darting out the door and making a clean getaway to his car outside. Harry waits, silently holding his breath, waiting for the shock of finding out Louis was home the entire time, but it doesn't come. He supposes Gemma really is a good actress.

———

"Bollocks, you can't do both," Niall said with a roll of his eyes. 

"I can!" Liam argues back, a look of determination set on his face.

Harry only huffs and watches the two bicker back and forth. It was over something stupid Liam said he could do, like balance a football on his knee whilst one rested on his head. And he actually tries to attempt it, but of course, it fails miserably and he turns grumpy for the rest of the night. Niall isn't much help since he kept picking on him about it.

They haven't hung out like this in quite a bit; both of their lives have been too busy or their schedule's made it to where no one was free at the same time. If Harry was working, the two of them would be free; if Harry was free, Liam would be out with his girlfriend, or Niall would be... just doing Niall things. It was nice to be around something so familiar—even if Louis' on his mind. It's only because Niall lives directly beside him, so of course when he walked to his house, his heart wanted to go to Louis' instead.

"Harry, did you hear me?" Niall kicks his foot.

Harry frowns and pulls his leg away from his reach, eyes shooting up to his mates and not expecting to be met with the pairs of eyes staring back at him. "Huh?" he questions.

"I asked if you think Louis would kick around with us. Even things out with some two-on-two."

Harry purses his lips in thought, very aware of the eyes on him as he carefully thinks about this. He's actually not sure if Louis would want to play a game—they haven't exactly had that kind of relationship. Their relationship consists of heart-to-hearts and passionate kisses, not bantering with a football between them. 

"Uh, we can ask?" he finally says, uncertain. Then he shrugs. 

"Let's go, then," Niall says, grabbing the ball from Liam's hands before darting quickly out of the room.

The both of them follow soon after, down the stairs, and out the door, until they've jogged past Louis' enormous fountain and made it up the steps to his front door. Niall and Liam waited for Harry to knock, said something about him being the closest to Louis, and that he should be the one to ask, too. He only sighs and reluctantly agrees.

He knocks loudly, waits, knocks again, and then waits some more. It's not too long until he can hear Louis coming close, followed by the groaning of the large, wooden door opening. 

"Harry," Louis sweetly says, face showing one of surprise upon seeing him unexpectedly.

Niall and Liam both step into view with smiling faces. "And Niall and Liam," Niall says.

Louis' eyes go wide, but he composes himself rather quickly. "Niall, Liam. Nice to see you! What's, uh... What's going on?" 

Harry doesn't say anything immediately, which results in getting elbowed by Niall. He groans, sways on his feet, and rubs his side unhappily. "Want to play football with us?" And, fuck, this sounds so stupid. He sounds like a little kid.

Louis bites away a smile and looks between the boys. "Sure, yeah. Let me go change first." He motions to the slouchy clothes he's wearing, then pulls open the door further for them to walk in behind him. "Make yourselves at home."

Niall and Liam rush in with the composure of thirteen-year-old's, stomping in and not wiping the bottoms of their shoes off on the mat, and instantly snooping around with their noses in the air. Harry slowly enters, wipes his feet on the mat, and then shuts the door behind himself. Niall and Liam disappear into the kitchen, so he heads that way to try and keep an eye on them. He's not sure why he's so nervous of them being around Louis, and of them being in his house. He's just being paranoid; it's just strange for them to invade the place where they can be themselves without a care in the world. 

"This place is insane," Liam mumbles, fingers running across the countertops. "He's loaded, huh?"

They both look at Harry again for an answer. He raises a brow and shrugs. "I mean, that's his business, right?"

"Yeah, you're right," Liam agrees. 

"Dad says it's uncanny for someone his age to afford a home like this," Niall says, his eyes pointed up as he inspected every inch of the kitchen. "He has to be loaded."

Harry can't help but roll his eyes.

"All right, lads, ready to lose?" Louis says as he enters the kitchen. He put on a pair of blue track pants with yellow lines running down the sides, and left the white shirt on that he was previously wearing.

"Oh, is that a challenge, Tomlinson?" Niall playfully asks as he mindlessly tosses the football between his hands.

"Hell yeah, it is."

It's with rowdy hoops and hollers that they all run out the front door and chase each other to the goals set up in Niall's backyard. Harry wouldn't care if it was just Liam and Niall playing with him, but since Louis' joining, he has a reason to be insecure about his terrible athletic skills. He's definitely better at football than he is basketball, but still. The last thing he wants to do is trip and fall in front of the person he's dating.

He's the last one out the door and the last one to make it to Niall's backyard—he just doesn't care to mask his lack of excitement from the activities that are about to take place. 

"Oh, lighten up, Curly," Louis playfully says. He kicks the ball past Niall and into the goal with ease. 

Oh, so he's incredible at sports, too? 

"Me and Louis versus Liam and Harry!" Niall shouts out.

Both Liam and Harry groan in unison.

———

It wouldn't have been that bad if Harry wasn't actually trying. Because he fucking is trying, but Louis' incredible, and so hard to play against. Nearly every time Harry gets the ball and kicks it past Niall, here comes Louis with his beautiful face and competitive attitude to kick the ball out from between his feet. Every bloody time. And he swears he's trying! No matter how good Louis' bum looks in his pants when he runs away from Harry after taking the ball from him. He possibly wasn't trying that hard in the beginning, but Louis' competitive attitude made him want to do better. 

It's just all annoying.

And his ribs hurt from breathing so damn hard.

"Aw, you giving up already?" Louis antagonizes. 

Harry gives him a displeased look. "Yeah," he says. "In fact, I am." And it's then he decides to fall down onto the grass with a groan.

"We win by forfeit!" Niall shouts out, and to be the most annoying person in the world, he starts to run circles around him.

"It's not fun to win by forfeit," Louis sighs out. He plops himself down beside Harry and crosses his legs.

"Shut up. You were gonna win anyway," he frowns out, chest heaving up and down as he tries to catch his breath.

"It is dark out. We had to call it at some point," Louis says with a shrug. 

He's enjoying this too much.

"I'm fucking exhausted," Liam grumbles out. He moves to lay down beside Harry. "I hate those two together."

"Tell me about it," Harry says.

"Sore losers," Niall says to Louis. "Wanna head inside for something to drink?"

Louis starts to stand. He dusts off his pants from the dead grass sticking to them, and politely declines. "I actually have to get back. Thanks for letting me play a game, it was fun. I'll see you all later, yeah?"

Niall nods, Harry stands, and Liam continues lying in the grass. 

"I'll, uh," Harry starts, too aware of the boys looking at him. He wants to walk Louis home without being too obvious.

"Harry, mind coming over real quick? I have that record to return to you," Louis calmly says.

Fuck, he's smooth.

He just nods at Louis, smiling a tight-lipped smile. He turns back to Niall and Liam as he starts to walk off with Louis. "Be right back!"

They walk side-by-side as they pass the hedge separating the two houses. It's cold now that he's not working up a sweat by running around; he shivers, stuffs his hands in the pockets of his pants, and walks Louis up to his front door in silence. 

"I actually do have a record I need to give back to you," Louis says with a smile. He opens the door and turns to face Harry with a finger held up. "Wait here."

He can't help but chuckle as Louis walks off and disappears into his living room. Only a few moments pass before he's walking back and twirling the record in his hands as he steps up to Harry by the front door. 

"Here you are, handsome," he says with a flirty bat of his lashes.

Harry slowly reaches out and takes the record back, his brows drawn together. "What are you doing?" he asks with a shake of his head. 

"Nothing. Just was nice to spend an evening with you around some of your friends. And you're fucking cute when I'm beating your ass in football," he laughs out, his hand coming up to fist at the hem of Harry's shirt to pull him closer. "Your angry face is adorable."

Harry allows himself to be tugged forward by Louis, but he presses his lips firmly together to try and feign unhappiness. "No it isn't," he says with narrowed eyes. "You're infuriating to play against. You and Niall on the same team was a terrible idea."

Louis chuckles and places his hand in the dip of Harry's waist. "So easy to rile up," he quietly says as he slowly inches forward.

"Hm," he hums out, not agreeing or disagreeing, but just trying to keep up with this attitude he's putting on for show. It seems to amuse Louis. 

He's got a smile on his mouth when he closes the distance between them with a fast kiss, one that doesn't get a chance to warm his body and chest, which is rather upsetting. But he accepts what he can get, because he has to get back to his friends. Before fully pulling away, Harry leans back in for just one more kiss. He can't help but smile during this simple kiss—he's just contain it. He finally pulls away and has to force himself to take a step back, otherwise he'll invite himself in for more because Louis' just so goddamn addictive in that way.

"I'll ring you later," Harry says with a wide smile. 

Louis nods and places his hand on the door. "All right. Bye, love."

"Bye," he sighs out, backing up until he reaches the stairs. He places a hand on the railing and waits until Louis shuts the door before turning to fully leave.

He hops down the steps in a Louis Tomlinson daze, his feet carrying him back to Niall's almost absentmindedly. When he rounds the hedges, the daze he's walking in instantly evaporates. It's sucked right from his soul, the skies opening up to consume it as his heart plummets into the depths of his stomach in the worst way possible. 

Niall puts the top back on the trash bin and turns, sees Harry, and lifts a brow. "What's wrong? Looks like you've seen a ghost."

Harry swallows thickly. A laugh forces its way out of his mouth, the action feeling as if someone pushed a button and made him do it without his consent. "Do I?" he stiffly asks.

"Yeah," Niall immediately replies. "Come on, then, Mum just made supper." He takes off with a wave of his hand for Harry to follow.

Harry releases a breath of relief. Thank God. That was way too close—if Niall had turned at all, he would have seen Louis and Harry at the door exchanging a kiss. Fuck. That was way too close. He's so relieved that he didn't see; Niall wouldn't have been able to contain the questions if he had actually seen something, Harry's sure of it. His heartbeat regulates, his breathing slows, and his shoulders un-hunch. 

He's not ready for anyone to know. It's just not the time. He's got to be more careful with things.

"Tracey!" Niall angrily shouts out when he enters the house. 

Harry snaps out of the dark thoughts of what could be happening right now if Niall had seen, and shoves them far away from his mind. He walks inside, takes one look at Niall and Tracey swatting at each other, and can't help but laugh.


	30. 29.

— Nineteen days until Christmas —

Part I:

Life is a wonderful, terrible, and amazing thing.

The more Harry thinks about it, the more he admires the little things that can change someone's life so unexpectedly. He recalls worrying so much about wanting to be extraordinary (he still wants that, but he's really just enjoying things as they come) and finding a relationship, that he never looked within himself to ask why he really needed these things. And what was holding him back. He correlated being extraordinary to successfulness, not happiness. Extraordinary, maybe, is him learning the guitar and diving deeper into music—something he loves so much. It's given him a greater appreciation when listening to songs and hearing these amazing guitar solos—the talent and determination it takes is something Harry hopes to achieve someday.

The other thing—the relationship thing—was so unexpected that it truly makes things even better. He was so intent on finding someone and not feeling left out that a wonderful relationship just fell on his lap. That's also something extraordinary that's happened to him. He's so lucky to be dating the sun with his oceans for eyes—sometimes his heart thumps extra hard in his chest when he starts daydreaming about it. Louis' so imperfectly perfect and it makes life so much more beautiful. But something he didn't know, a downside of all of this, is quite disheartening. Because Christmas is coming, and he doesn't know what the hell to get his dreamboat of a guy. 

So, that makes him the worst person to be in a relationship with.

Christmas is weeks away, sure, but he wants to stay ahead of things. He has an entire family to shop for! The days will pass swiftly, and the twenty-fifth will be here before he knows it. But, still, what does he get for someone that has enough money to buy it all himself? Harry only has enough to give gifts to his friends and family, but nothing crazy expensive. Niall's easy to shop for, Liam likes something a little more heartfelt, and Gemma... Well. He wants Gemma to have the best Christmas yet.

She's basically been a shut-in for a few weeks now. Ever since that party happened. She comes out and does her jokes, or comes out to fight with their Mum, but for the most part, she stays in her bedroom. It's starting to feel like the days when they weren't that close, and when all she'd ever do is sneak around and not tell anyone anything about her life. He's tried talking to her, but she shuts any conversation down if it's about her mental health. He's just worried.

But enough of that. He's currently at the shoppe's searching for any gift he can get, with a list in his hand, and with a Niall Horan that's pestering him.

"I'm just saying," Niall says, his hands on a ceramic elephant. He holds it up with a brow furrowed. "If you tell me, I promise I'll still be surprised."

"Why would I tell you what I'm getting you for Christmas?" Harry asks, eyes searching his list. His Mum, Anne, is at the top with a few things marked underneath it. Clothes, jewelry—anything sentimental.

"It better be something good," he grumbles out. "Like, a telly set."

Harry turns at once and gives Niall a look. "A telly set? Are you mad?"

He puts down the ceramic elephant and fully grins at him. "Maybe a little."

Harry can't help but laugh. He asked Niall for company on his shopping day, hoping he'd be available to just hang around with. Niall's a good person to tag along for these sorts of things—he keeps the atmosphere energetic and fun, and not stressful and exhausting. Christmas gift shopping is hard; he just wants it to be perfect, and that idea gets to him. Niall's good at leveling him. Also, this has always been an annual thing they did together.

"Was Louis busy today?" he asks, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. Probably to resist the urge to touch everything.

"Not sure," Harry truthfully replies. "Wanted to do this with you!" He over-joyously shoves Niall's side with his elbow, a grin spread over his face. "Keep our tradition."

Niall laughs and flinches away from him. "Damn, yeah, forgot this was our thing. A lot's happened this year, huh?"

He sighs and stops to look at some picture frames, but nods anyway. "Yeah. Do you think my Mum would like these?" He lifts the brown frames for Niall to get a good look. 

Niall raises a brow. "That's, like, shit brown."

Harry frowns and instantly puts it down. "You're, like, shit brown."

Niall snorts and cackles with his head thrown back, his hand slapping over his stomach. Swear words spew from his mouth as if he can't help it, and Harry smiles proudly at how successful his joke was.

———

"And then he said I was shit brown!" Niall laughs out, and soon, he's wiping his eyes.

"The boy's got jokes, huh?" Louis says with an amused smile; a few soft laughs escape his mouth and it's beautiful.

Harry rolls his eyes, bags in hand, as he waits for Niall to open his car door. It was purely coincidental that they ran into Louis while shopping, only to discover he was doing the exact same thing. He was sporting a black sweater with black trousers, a look that suited him far too well. It's not even anything immaculate—Louis just looks good in black.

"I think they have them," Zayn says as he walks up from behind Louis. His eyes immediately drift to Harry and Niall, and then back to Louis as he stands completely still by his side. 

"Do they?" Louis questions, brows raised, head turning to face Zayn. "Fantastic."

"Zayn!" Niall loudly says, a smile on his always-happy face. "Nice to see ya!"

Zayn forces a smile in Niall's direction, but otherwise looks uncomfortable. Maybe that's just his face, though.

"Hey," he mumbles out.

"Niall. Liam's mate. Harry's mate. We played around in the music room that one time?" Niall continues, trying to coax out a memory from Zayn.

"He's my neighbor," Louis adds.

Harry huffs out of frustration. "Niall, these bags are heavy."

He didn't seem to hear Harry.

"Oh, yeah," Zayn finally replies, his features opening up and almost looking friendly. "Yeah. The bloke that couldn't play drums."

"Hey, now, I tried me best. Don't have experience there," Niall defends. He laughs anyway. "You and Louis close, then?"

Zayn nods once.

"Anytime you'd like to unlock the door would be great," Harry whines out.

"Harry, don't be rude. They're having a conversation," Louis says, following with a tut at the end. 

Harry blinks at him, baffled, and almost frowning. Almost because Louis looks rather amused at Niall trying to get Zayn to talk to him, though he's looking stiff by the pestering. Zayn really doesn't know Niall. He'll sweet talk his way into anyone's heart, even when it's unwanted. He's just got a charm about him that can be very annoying, but also enchanting. He's carefree, he's funny, and he's the person that always laughs at his stupid jokes. He truly couldn't ask for a better best mate.

"Who are you shopping for?" Harry asks Louis. The other two are aren't paying any mind to them—too deep in whatever Niall's going on about.

"No one that concerns you," Louis says with a sickly sweet smile. 

It's one of those situations where he can't help but smile back.

"Really now," Harry softly mutters, head tilting in suspicion. The cold wind harshly presses against him, sending a shiver down his back, and it somehow weighs down his bags. "It's a bit chilly," he unhappily says.

Louis watches him closely, his eyes scanning the entirety of his face and then falling to the bags in his hands. Then, as if he was doing something he shouldn't be doing, he quickly moves his eyes back up, but rests them on Harry's mouth. It's completely obvious, almost embarrassingly so. Anyone could walk by and see him staring so directly at his mouth, almost in a trance, and Harry doesn't know why. He just clears his throat, shifts on his feet, and feels slightly unhappy with how the cold air makes his lips so chapped.

"Want me to hold one?" he eventually asks, his empty hand reaching out to relieve Harry from his heavy items.

"Please," he softly says, instantly handing a bag over. Thick frames and anything else he thought his Mum would like made the sacks rather heavy—he wasn't trying to be dramatic. It's just strenuous on his hands, is all.

"Weak," Louis laughs out.

Harry scrunches his nose to try and stop a laugh from escaping, then settles his eyes back on Niall and Zayn. Niall looks far too comfortable with bugging Zayn, talking about school and hopping around to music. He's grasping at anything Zayn's possibly interested in to start forming a connection, and digging deep into it. Zayn glances over at Louis with wide eyes, then back to Niall with a forced nod and smile. It's so fucking amusing.

"Christmas Eve?" Zayn questions, brows drawn in. 

Niall, for some reason, invited Zayn (who's basically a stranger to him) to the annual Horan Christmas party. 

"I can't, sorry. That's Louis' birthday."

Harry nearly drops the bag in his hand. He fumbles and tries to compose himself, but suddenly his legs don't know how to balance anything. Niall's finally looking at him with confused eyes, and a tentative hand extended out as if he was preparing to catch him. 

He doesn't care about the eyes suddenly on him when he looks back to Louis, who's now whistling and looking up to the buildings to his left. As if nothing happened. 

Oh, fuck.

———

"Your birthday is Christmas Eve?" Harry shouts out, not even caring to knock once he reached Louis' house.

As soon as the shopping was done, and he bid his farewells to Niall, he got in his Mum's car and drove directly to Louis'. There was no time to spare, not a single minute. Louis' goddamn birthday is right before Christmas, and he doesn't even know what to get him! Let alone what to get him for his birthday! And without a warning? Without a notice in advance? How is he going to find the perfect birthday gift, and Christmas gift?

"Fuck, Harry, you've scared me half to death!" Louis exclaims, his hands firm on his kitchen counter. "This is why I wasn't going to say anything."

Harry gapes at him; he can feel the stress radiating from his body like a neon sign, and Louis' picking up on it. He sighs, scratches at his scruffy jaw, and shrugs.

"Look, I'm sorry. I wasn't planning on doing anything, and I didn't want you to do anything for me. I just wanted to ignore it."

Harry still can't find the words to explain how he's feeling. Louis' words are so softly spoken, so sincere, that all the anger and stress he'd built up over time had no place to go anymore. He exhales once, starts to step closer, and then rolls his eyes as he plops himself onto the stool by the island.

"Louis, I—we—"

"Forget Zayn even told you, yeah? That's all I want. I just want to have a plain Christmas Eve, no birthday stuff. Can you do that for me?" Louis asks, his eyes on Harry as if they were begging him to agree.

And Harry doesn't like that. Because he likes birthday's, and he likes making people feel special on them. He wants the person he cares for to feel special on the day he was brought into this world.

But Louis' looking at him with a look that makes him appear so much younger than usual—one of innocence and vulnerability, and he can't say no.

"Fine," Harry breathes out. "But only if that's what you really want."

"It is!" Louis says, his mood rising, and a wide smile forming. "Now, since you're here, let's make the most out of it."

Louis has a sneaky smile on his face as he rounds the island and places his hands on Harry's knees to pry them open for him to step between. His face goes red and he can't help but giggle when Louis starts peppering kisses alongside his jaw.

— Fifteen days until Christmas —

It's one of those days where everything feels magical. Maybe it's the pure happiness he feels from Louis, but he thinks the Christmas cheer, along with the snow, is a big contributor. Harry's always loved snow—it's the best part of winter! Sure, driving in it is a bit of a struggle, but it makes the days so much more wonderful. 

Harry can't help but brave the cold, sit on the front porch with a cup of tea, and sip it slowly as he admired the snow fall outside. It's beautiful with the way it softens everything up. Anything harsh from the ground, like the dead grass or dirt—the ugliness this town creates if anything is here too long, really—is covered by this temporary beauty.

And with it so close to Christmas, it just makes it all the more magnificent.

He has a lot to do still. His Mum's shopping is done, his sister's is done, and Niall's is done. Louis' is still up in the air, and so is Liam's. He thinks he knows what to get them—shouldn't be too hard, but it's still something to stress about. Christmas is right around the corner, along with Louis' fucking birthday. He knows he promised to ignore it, but would it really be such a terrible thing to give him something? Just something tiny, even. He has to do something. 

His plans for the day are to finish his tea quickly, go to the stores, and then get ready for the Christmas photos to be taken at the park. Oh, it's going to be lovely with the snow all around! 

He gulps down the rest of his tea, then rushes inside to clean out the kettle and teacup before preparing for the day. It's when he's finally making his way upstairs that his sister catches him, with freshly brushed hair and clean clothes, and the evidence of a smile on her face.

Harry freezes in his spot instantly at the sight.

"Are you going out this morning?" she asks, her hands clasped together.

Harry nods slowly, stepping up the last step, and joining her at the top. "Yeah, before our pictures." He can't help but smile at her. She looks good.

She nervously looks to the side and begins to fiddle with the ends of her hair. "Want some company? I have a few things I need to get."

This time he nods a bit more quickly. "Of course, yeah. Just let me go change and we can head out!"

She looks over him and rolls her eyes, but she's still smiling. "Oi, don't get too excited. I still hate shopping, so expect a lot of complaints."

Harry starts to walk to his bedroom door. "Yeah, yeah."

———

"So, you got good grades?" Gemma questioned him, her hands deep into the pockets of her thick coat to keep warm.

Harry picks up an item of clothing with a color of blue that catches his eye; he holds it up with squinted eyes. "Yeah. Finished strong, I think. Thought I was definitely going to fail Maths, but I brought it up to a C!" And, yeah, that's definitely something for him to be excited about. He's just not good with numbers.

"Now you have to start looking at universities," she says with a sigh, stepping up by his side. "That's nice. I like a good sweater."

Harry nods and bites the corner of his lower lip. "You think Liam would like it?"

She nods once. "The color suits him."

And that settles that. He folds it over his arm and continues to roam throughout the store in a slow pace, eyes wandering about for anything that stands out. "University's a long ways away," he finally says.

Gemma instantly shakes her head. "Not really. You'll be graduation soon, and long before that, you have to send in applications. Go to interviews. It's fucking exhausting. And before that, you have to decide which uni's look appealing!" She huffs once her words are out, and her eyes soon find his. "I should probably look into it, too."

Harry shrugs. "I thought you said university was for the stuck-up, entitled, and privileged? And that's why you didn't go?"

She sighs yet again and fumbles around with a shirt on the hanger. "Yeah, well. Sometimes people say that when they're not accepted."

Harry fully turns to her, downright shocked, and so taken aback that he can't find the right words to say. Should he be comforting in this moment, or offer some uneducated advice? Gemma's known for not liking comfort of any kind, and advice in an area he's not experienced in couldn't be the wisest thing to do. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" he softly asks. Her eyes turn away from his in that instant, almost looking ashamed. "If you want to go to university, then we can apply together. Um. Yeah." The more he thinks on it, the faster the words come to him. "I actually have a few universities in mind, but I've kept it to myself. We could go through this process together!"

She looks back to him, and is maybe convinced for half a second, before she's shaking her head. "No, I couldn't do that to Mum. She needs someone to take over the bakery, y'know?"

He sighs. "But is that your dream? Your passion?"

She takes a step back as if it was all too much. "Harry, c'mon. Those are the things in films. People get stuck with jobs to be able to live, not because it makes them happy. It's the real world."

Fuck. No. He doesn't want to hear that. Not when his passion is something so far out of reach—he can't hear things like this. "I refuse to believe that," he quietly says, looking away from her and to the sweater in his hands. "Gemma, it's like it's calling for me. Like, it's one thing that makes me happy, and it's the one thing I'm actually becoming decent at. Haven't you heard me? I'm actually learning. And Zayn—he says I'm good. Maybe I could do something with it. With music."

It's quiet between them; it's a battle of passions—or lack thereof. Gemma just doesn't understand because she hasn't found her passion yet. And maybe that's why she's having such a hard time with life right now. She's working towards nothing, and she's only living for a party or for a boyfriend. He just wants her happy and fulfilled, not pessimistic and acting as if life was forced upon her. It was gifted to her. Harry has to believe that, because then what's the point? If life isn't gifted, and there are no purposes to fulfill, then what's the point of anything?

He shakes his head to clear it. He doesn't want to go down that path because it's bound to leave him almost paralyzed from all the uncertainty.

"Guess who's birthday is bloody Christmas Eve?" he asks, trying to change the subject. 

She knowingly gasps. "No!"

He nods with wide, stressed eyes. "Yeah!"

They spend the rest of their shopping with Gemma trying to comfort Harry, telling him that everything will be fine, and that he can get Louis something amazing for his birthday and Christmas. When he said a sharp "like what?" after she told him that, she'd only shrugged. 

So it was almost an unsuccessful morning. Almost because he managed to find a rather funny book called Cooking: for Beginners. He thought Louis might actually get some use out of it, considering he tried to boil water in a pan and not a pot. So. One gift down, only the rest to go!

Gemma successfully scored a lot more items than he did. She basically had everyone to shop for, so she was grabbing whatever looked appealing in the slightest. She'd gotten their Mum a new romance novel, a pair of earrings she found on sale, and a red scarf. Their mother was easy to please, but she always fancied a new book or jewelry. 

"Are you gonna stay calm for pictures?" Gemma eventually asks him. 

They've just left another store and were currently making their way to the car. Their Mum didn't go out today—insisted on getting her beauty sleep before getting their pictures done—so they had the car.

"You know," she starts, a cheeky smile on her mouth. "With your boyfriend so close? How will you resist him, Harry?"

She's teasing him, he knows, but the way she said boyfriend made him feel so...different. "Shut up," he laughs out. "Believe it or not, this is my life now, so I know how to contain my emotions in public."

"Well, that's fucking depressing."

He shrugs. "And he's not my boyfriend."

She unlocks the car and starts putting all her bags in. "Oh, fuck off! Harry, he's totally your boyfriend. Are you mad?"

He can't help but roll his eyes. "Let's drop it, shall we? Want me to start talking about your personal life?"

Gemma shuts the back door and then looks back at him with a raised brow. "If you haven't noticed, all of my troubles are out for everyone to see. I'm dating myself now!"

"Well, you better treat yourself nicely. I don't want to have to fight you for hurting your own feelings," he jokes out, unable to keep in his laughs.

"Please, Harry," she begs, hands clasping together. "No more jokes."

———

Okay, maybe Gemma was onto something earlier. It actually is hard to hold in his expressions once his eyes land on Louis. Their family is dressed to the nines, in their fanciest Christmas outfits, and the nicest jewelry their Mum could find. Harry thinks it's because she wants everyone that steps into the house to see that they're happy without their father, and they can be a family without him. 

Harry's got on a suit. It's a bit tight, considering he hasn't worn it since last Christmas, but it's surprisingly comfortable. It's a black velvet suit, and a bow tie is fastened around his neck to pull the look together. It's a bit much, but this is what Anne wanted. He couldn't refuse her—not when she's so excited for it.

But back to Louis. He's wearing that black turtleneck again, with a brown blazer, and black trousers. He looks so fucking professional that Harry thinks he could just stop existing right then and he'd be fine with it. And he's wearing his glasses. He hasn't seen him wear those in so long—mostly because he only needs them for reading, so the sight of it surprised him, to say the least. 

And he wants so badly to go over and flirt with him. To hold his hand, maybe. And possibly kiss him. But he can't, and he knows that, so he finds himself rubbing his nose or tugging at his tie to give himself something to do.

"Louis looks like a model or some shit," Gemma whispers to him. 

They both watch as their Mum approaches him to talk about what the plan is, and Louis catches his eye for a split second. Harry swears his smile almost looks brighter for that small moment he looked at him.

"It's really not fair," Harry says with a sigh. "Why'd he have to wear that? It's snowing for Christ's sake! Put on a wool coat or something." 

Gemma laughs and nudges his side. "Harry, are you blushing?"

His hands instantly come up to his cheeks. "No! I'm just cold!"

She laughs again, her breath clouding the air around them. "I'm going to go drool over your boyfriend since you can't." She rubs her lips together, which are coated in red lipstick, and she waves with her fingers. "Ta-ta!"

Harry tries to reach out and stop her, but she moves too fast and is able to escape his hands. He crosses his arms unhappily as he stares at Gemma, watching how she eases herself into the conversation Louis' having with his Mum, and the way she somehow directed the attention to herself. Her arms are extended, and by the looks of it, she's complimenting his outfit. He laughs, shakes his head, and waves away her compliments with his hand. Harry can't be too upset; someone needs to tell Louis how wonderful he looks.

He realizes he looks ridiculous standing by himself and staring like a madman, so he decides to head over to them. It's strange how all coherent, clear thoughts vanish when something like a secret relationship is involved. He forgets how to stand, how to talk—when smiling is too much, and when it isn't. Does he joke with him too much? Is the joking around going to look flirty? It's so hard to tell, so it's better to just say as little as possible. Let someone else take control of the conversation. He just has to be friendly and act as if they're only friends.

"Hey," he says once he reaches everyone. His Mum is staring at the tree they'd be taking a picture in front of with a finger on her chin in thought, so Harry takes this opportunity to give Louis a wide smile. "Hi," he says again.

"Bloody hell," his sister whispers.

"Hey, Harry. Doing all right?" Louis asks, so casual and normal. 

He nods. "Yeah, yeah. So, uh, what's the plan? Just stand there and smile?"

Louis cocks his head to the side just slightly, as if he finds Harry amusing. Then he nods. "Yeah, that's the plan. Stand there and smile. Look lovely and all that." He then rakes his eyes over his body with a steady gaze. "I like the suit."

Harry's throat dries out and he feels his fingers reach up into his palms to grab at the ends of his sleeves to tug at. "Th-thanks," he stutters out. He's acting like a child. 

"This is painful," Gemma mutters. She leans her head behind Harry and smiles widely at their Mum. "Mum, you ready, love?" She asks with a shout, swatting the snow falling as if it would clear it out as she made her way to Anne. "Glorified fucking water," she mumbles under her breath.

Harry shivers and clears his throat. "Cold," he mutters to Louis. 

Louis nods. "Best make this quick then, yeah?"

He nods back.

"All right, everyone gather 'round that tree!" Louis calls out.

Anne walks back over to them and grabs her children by the sleeves of their clothes. The tree was covered in snow—it almost looks fake and planned for a Christmas card. His shoes crunch in the snow, and he hopes this goes by quick because he's wearing his church shoes, and they're not meant for the snow. But maybe he can get away with it since the last he even went to church was on Easter Sunday.

"Anne, stay in the center. Yes, there. Harry, to your Mum's left. Gemma, to your Mum's right. Perfect!" Louis calls out.

Harry stands beside his Mum and runs a quick hand through his hair to make sure it didn't look too messed up from the snow. He wraps his arm around his Mum, and it only just now hits him how small she is compared to him. When did that happen? She'd always seemed so tall and powerful, yet so loving and kind. As a kid it was as if he'd never be as big as her, yet he surpassed her height at age fourteen. And he kept growing, but it still felt as though she was the bigger person. Maybe because he looked up to her so much. 

Which is why it hurts that he's hiding his life from her. It's not fair to her, but the fear of being rejected is strong and so present in his mind. Even if she's the one that taught him to be kind, to always listen to what others have to say, and to not be someone that judges others. These things were instilled within him his entire life, so why is it so scary to think she would judge him? Or stop loving him? These thoughts are what keeps him up at night; he knows him liking boys is a completely different conversation that they've never come close to having, so the scenarios will undoubtedly change when it comes to not judging others. 

And he knows his mind has run wild again. It just happens in the most inconvenient times.

But he smiles widely, looks happy, and fixates on Louis behind his camera that sits on a stand. It's easy to smile when he's looking at Louis, so instead of faking it, he just gazed into the one thing that can warm him on this freezing day.

———

Harry braved the cold, for the third time today, and begrudgingly walked up to his Dad's front door with a firm knock. It feels like it's been forever since he's had to come over for dinner, but it also feels like he's been doing this forever. He's tired of it. He doesn't understand what his father gets out of these dinners still. What's the point of having a son over that doesn't want to be around his Dad? 

The door is opened within moments of his knocking, and out walks Elaine with the loudest dress he's ever seen on a person. It's the typical heart-shaped top, with her breasts nearly falling out of it, and a cinched waist with a puffy bottom, but the patterns littered about it made it hard to look away. It's filled with Christmas trees and anything colorful about the holiday. There were also Father Christmas heads with his red hat and rosy cheeks just casually patterned across it. It was atrocious. It also sort of...suited her well. 

He just can't believe his father cheated on his Mum with someone like this.

"Harry!" Elaine greets, a smile on her mouth. "Come in, it's freezing out!" She grabs at his shoulders and tugs him inside where it's much warmer. "How are you? Enjoying the first snowfall of winter? Your father says you always loved snow as a boy."

Harry's brows scrunched together. "He did?" 

"Let me take your coat," she says, still smiling painfully wide. She starts to take off his jacket before saying anything. "And yes, he did. Said Gemma hated it because it only made things wet when it melted. Glorified water, I recall him quoting!"

Harry almost smiles. 

Almost.

"Yeah, that's Gem," says Harry. "Is Dad here?" he softly asks, following after her once she begins to walk further into the house.

"Just on a call, I believe. And, Harry, you look dashing tonight!"

Harry tugs at the white button-up with a hard swallow, as if the collar was tightening around his neck as the seconds ticked by. "Thanks." He truthfully just didn't feel like changing after pictures. And he has to dress up for these things anyway.

As if on cue to make things even more awkward, Del walks in. He announces his presence with a clear of his throat (that nearly turns into a cough), a glass of brandy already in his hand, and his permanent frown lines settled even deeper by the corners of his mouth. 

Harry looks away, uncomfortable, and already wishing the night to be over with.

"Harry," his Dad greets with a nod in his direction. "How's Anne?"

Elaine clears her throat and excuses herself.

"Perfectly fine," he breathes out. 

"Good, good," he lowly says. He then clears his throat. "So, Elaine wants to do something nice for you kids for Christmas. Is there anything you wanted? She's been pestering me to ask you and Gemma."

Harry feels put on the spot. His mind races for gift ideas—anything would do, really, he doesn't care what they get him. But if he could get something nice—and possibly costly—out of these people... Well, would it be the worst thing?

"Records," he instantly says. "Anything from the Eagles, Lynyrd Skynyrd—David Bowie. Anyone, really. I'll listen to everyone, but I always love new music. Um. New guitar strings, too, I guess?"

His father instantly gives him a strange look. "Guitar strings? Since when would you need those?"

Harry shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Uh, since I've been learning guitar," he plainly says. "I think Gemma might like a shawl like Stevie Nicks. She says she's been digging her lately."

His Dad looks taken aback. Probably by the guitar playing thing—he doesn't think Harry actually has the discipline to learn something like guitar. That's all it is! And that he really doesn't know his kid. How could he when the only time they see each other is during these stupid dinners?

"Okay," he finally says.

Harry only nods.

"Okay," he says back.


	31. 30.

— Twelve days until Christmas —

Part II:

"Oh, we've picked a wonderful tree! Good eye, Gemma!" Anne happily claps once the Christmas tree had been set up.

It was a bit of a struggle this time around. Their Dad actually handled this bit of Christmas, with strapping a tree onto the roof of the car and tying it up. It was a learning curve for everyone. But it was fun, cold, and a lovely day to pick out a tree. It's finally dropped, he thinks, after leaving it up for a few hours. Harry's too excited, anyway, so he wants to start decorating immediately.

"You've got some Christmas cheer, Harry!" His Mum says with sweet smile. "What's different?"

Harry nearly panics. His mind says: I'm dating a boy! But his mouth says: "Dad's not here to yell at me."

She instantly nods. "You're right. So much better without that." She then turns her head around the room frantically. "Harry, dear, we need music!"

And it's like he's been waiting his entire life for her to say that.

In an instant he drops the roll of lights he was in the middle of untangling to rush up into his room and pull out festive Christmas albums. Elvis Presley was an obvious choice—and his Mum has a soft spot for the King. He's back downstairs in no time to get the record player dusted off and ready for the album about to be played, and as soon as he lifts the needle over the record, gently places it on the first line, and hears the smooth crackle of the music, he feels rather content with life.

Usually the tree is put up with his father yelling at him for doing the lights wrong, or for messing anything up that got in his way, but he actually finds it fun without him. It's fun to string up lights and dance to Elvis with his Mum and sister (as lame as that sounds!), and decorate the tree with the baubles collected and made over time. Harry found ones he made as a child for Anne, along with Gemma, and together they laughed at how horrible it was. Both of them tired themselves out with dancing and drinking too much wine, so they left Harry to toss on the tinsel. Which is annoying timing, considering how messy tinsel is.

He half-heartedly does this part, tossing it whichever way, and hoping it lands on the tree. 

"Harry, that's terrible!" His Mum snorts out. "You're getting it all over the floor!"

He turns at once, his box of tinsel in hand, and doesn't think twice before tossing strands of tinsel at his mother. "I don't see you trying to help me!"

She laughs loudly and nearly spills wine on the couch, and even Gemma starts to give into her giggles. Harry turns to Gemma and starts tossing some in her direction as well.

"Hey! What's that about!"

Harry shrugs. "Not helping!"

"Don't be a Scrooge, darling!" Anne says, her cheeks red. She's basically drunk at this point.

"I'm not!" Harry defends. He huffs and slowly turns around to finish the job he's given up on, the soft voice of Elvis continuing in the background to fill the quiet. "I'm done."

"You missed a spot," Gemma says.

Harry places his hands on his hips and takes a step back, eyes raking up and down the tree slowly. "I did not."

"You did," she says, standing up. "Right there."

He feels something in his hair as soon as those words come out, and he instantly reaches up to fish whatever it was out. It was only the tinsel he'd just thrown at her, to which he pulled off with a displeased look. "Funny."

"Oh, I'm only having fun," she says with a roll of her eyes. "I've actually had a nice evening with my lousy family. Don't ruin it."

Harry looks over at her to see if the look on her face reflected her words. She did seem better lately, even with their Mum. They'd been getting along and laughing, and she hasn't been hiding out in her room as much. Maybe it's the magical time of Christmas drawing out the want to be a close family, or maybe she's just...healing. Whichever it is, he hopes she's actually okay and that this isn't a front she's putting on. 

He can't help but reach out in one quick motion and pull her close to himself. He has his arm around her shoulders that he squeezes tightly, her face digging into his chest.

"Harry—" She starts to protest, only to be cut off by their Mum.

"Freeze! Let me get my camera!" 

Harry sighs and tries to fight off Gemma's attempts of escape.

— Eleven days until Christmas —

"I can't believe you were going to go without a tree," Harry says to Louis, who he'd just convinced to buy a tree with. Louis refused to buy a real tree because he didn't want it to scratch up the roof of his car, so he bought a fake one that he managed to shove in the back seat.

"I think you're being a little dramatic," Louis says from the floor. He may also be refusing to help set it up, leaving Harry to do all the hard work. "That bit needs fluffing."

Harry turns and squints his eyes at him, but then still fluffs up the fake tree anyway. It takes quite a while to actually put on each section and spread out all the branches to try and make it look as real as possible. It doesn't, but it also doesn't look horrible. It's better than having nothing at all. And it looks a little funny having such a small tree in such a big living room, with ceilings probably twenty feet tall, and a tree that's only six feet tall. But whatever. It'll have to do.

"Lights!" Harry exclaims excitedly, turning around once every part of the tree had been set up. Louis was supposed to be preparing the lights, but he was drinking his tea instead.

He blinks at him over the top of his mug, puts it down, and reaches for the roll of lights on the floor with an innocent smile.

Harry sighs deeply and moves to sit on the floor by him with crossed legs. "What's wrong?"

Louis quirks a brow and puts the lights down to reposition himself, now sitting with his hands pressed to the floor behind himself as he leaned slightly back. Harry doesn't exactly know why he looks so attractive sitting. 

"Nothing. I just like watching you," Louis says with a cheeky smile.

Harry finds himself squinting again, even if that comment made his stomach flutter. "Okay," is all he says.

"Wanna do the lights now?"

"No," Harry says, hunching his back a little. He still reaches for the lights despite what was just said. "Not until you get into the Christmas spirit."

Louis laughs so abruptly that Harry jumps. "Harry, I'm rushing you because I'm trying to take you out. On a date. Now hurry the fuck up."

Harry's eyes instantly widen. His hands fumble and he clears his throat to say something, but the words never come out. So, instead of saying something, he stands up with a smile and immediately starts to wrap the lights around the tree. Louis laughs; he would be embarrassed by his eagerness if it was any other day, but a second date with him sounds incredible right now. Right around Christmastime! So, he basically speed-wraps the tree, and doesn't even ask Louis if it's done well. 

Over time, and after cleaning everything up, Louis asks if he's ready to go. Harry almost asks if they can stop to buy baubles, but he doesn't. Only because he wants to get to this date immediately, and anything else can be put on hold until then.

"You're, uh, excited," Louis says with a smile. He can hear it in his voice.

Harry rolls his eyes and puts on his coat. "I'm ready. Are you?"

Louis nods and puts his jacket on, his keys in hand, and a lovely smile still on his mouth. He motions to the door for them to leave, and as they walk out together, Harry can't help but feel like a giddy child on Christmas.

———

He thinks Louis might be the most romantic person he's ever had the privilege of knowing—and dating. Granted, he's never had any kind of romantic experience before Louis, but he's certain if he had anything else to compare it to, it wouldn't amount to Louis' actions. 

And he's possibly being dramatic again.

But Louis, after driving through the most magical neighborhood of Christmas lights, decided to take him to the overlook on the hill to look at the town below. Harry has never personally been there before—it's been known as the place to "park" for the longest time, and... Well. Harry's never had anyone to park with. And, since it's so close to Christmas, he supposes the people his age can't escape their family to come to the overlook. Which means they're the only ones there. Which means they can do whatever they please.

"Louis," Harry happily says in a quieter voice, his eyes scanning the town below him. It's beautiful with the way the lights glisten from afar—he wonders if it looks like this when it isn't Christmastime. He highly doubts it.

"Harry," Louis mocks him, his voice dropping a bit lower. 

Harry rolls his eyes.

"Shut up," he mutters. Louis laughs and hops onto the bonnet of the car in such a nonchalant way that Harry can't help but stare at his laid-out position. 

"Join me, will you?" Louis says, patting the spot next to him on the car. 

Harry stares down at the car with his lower lip between his teeth. "I don't want to dent it," he softly speaks

Louis gives him a look with a shake of his head. "If my fat arse isn't doing anything to it, yours won't, darling."

Harry laughs out of shock, but can't help and mentally agree with that statement. He moves to the front of the car and slowly slides himself up it, nestling right beside Louis, and finding warmth by his side. His arm was around Harry's not a moment later, pulling him even closer (if possible), so he instinctively laid his head down on his shoulder. 

And he wishes life was always like this. With the soft haze of lights glowing from below, the stars twinkling above them, and with the arm of the boy he fancies so much around his shoulders. He wonders if Louis always feels overwhelmed from such strong feelings, or if he's on his own in this. It's a lot, honestly. To feel like his heart could burst at any moment due to the affection he feels when he just looks at Louis. 

"Harry," he starts, voice gentle and breath hitting the top of his head as he turns to talk to him.

Harry's fingers find Louis' from where they're resting on his shoulder, and he gently tangles them together.

"Yeah?"

"What do you think your life would be like if I hadn't moved here?" His voice is soft again, so he knows things have gone serious.

He digs his head further into the crook of Louis' neck, almost as if it helped secure him. And it really did help. Anytime he was closer to him, it helped. "Lonely," he says, an unamused laugh tumbling past his lips. "And untrue."

Louis' thumb begins to rub over Harry's knuckles. "I think about that stuff a lot. Like, if I would be different if I hadn't met a person. I would be if I hadn't met you," he says. "It's strange. I was so sworn against finding someone, but I just couldn't resist you. It's like you were this force I couldn't escape, and it was meant to happen. You know?"

Harry's brows furrow in thought as he listens to Louis, listening to the tone and to the words as if a concentrated face would help him hear better. Which is absurd, but he does it nonetheless. "But it's really how it was," says Harry. "You're still all I can think about, but when I was shoving my feelings down so far, it just—it didn't work. I liked you too much."

Louis' quiet for a few seconds. Harry doesn't want to say anything to disrupt it, so he just lays next to him with his eyes closed, taking in the warmth radiating from his side, and trying to not focus on the cold. They wouldn't be able to stay too long with how cold it was. It was still a perfect night, filled with beautiful Christmas lights and simple conversation about things he couldn't talk about with other people. Things are just so natural with Louis—like playing the guitar. Sure, it was foreign at first, but it felt like he was just meant for it. And it goes both ways, with Louis and with music. 

It sounds ridiculous the more he thinks about it—too romantic and too sappy. He didn't think he'd ever be that kind of guy, but to be fair, he also thought he was the kind of guy that liked girls. So. There's that.

"I've been trying to find this amazing, mind-blowing way to ask you, but truthfully, I can't. Because we're not those kinds of people, you know? We're the type of guys that sit in the freezing cold, underneath the stars, and start talking about how we really feel," Louis says. The thumb that was constantly rubbing over his knuckles stops. "And I let it slip a few weeks back, not thinking much of it because it just seemed like it's what we already were. But I can't assume that. And I want things to be clear with you, Curly."

Harry's heart starts to pound a bit heavier than usual.

"I want you to be my boyfriend." And it's out there. Louis can't take it back, and he can't simply erase what he just said. "If you'll have me."

Harry removes his head from his shoulder, his left hand pressing into the car as he sits up to look back at Louis. He doesn't quite know how to explain everything he's feeling—didn't know how much he wanted an actual label on things until now. He was just so happy knowing Louis liked him back. He was certainly confused about him mentioning they were already going steady a few weeks back, but only because it was a conversation they hadn't yet had. This is the conversation. This is the moment where it feels like he's actually on top of the world, because it's real. Louis' real. Their infatuation is real. And his heart has officially burst.

He feels like crying.

"Louis, you don't get it," Harry says, voice cracking, and he realizes he's in his own head and Louis doesn't know what he's talking about. "When I first experienced these feelings it felt so heavy. It felt so suffocating and all-consuming." He takes a shaky breath and can't help but laugh, his eyes welling up, and fuck, he's a giant baby. "But now I've never felt lighter in my entire life. Of course I'll have you, are you mad? You're all I've ever wanted, even when I didn't know it."

"You've got to stop sweet-talkin' me before I ask you to marry me instead." He's grinning from ear to ear, eyes somehow shining in the dark like they always fucking do. 

Harry laughs. "One step at a time."

And then he kisses him. Because he can't resist it anymore, and because kissing Louis will be at the top of the list of his favorite things to do in life. The list is short so far, but it's mostly filled with Louis-related things. 

It's a short kiss because Harry's mind is spinning and because he can't catch his breath. There's also something he wants to say—only because he's never had a chance to in his life before.

"You're my boyfriend," he quietly says against Louis' mouth. 

It feels like a puzzle has instantly clicked into place.

— One day until Christmas —

A lot has happened. Too much, really, to think on. It's been filled with rushing around to finish up shopping, dealing with a father that won't stop pestering him about his guitar, and a surprisingly happy Gemma.

The days were slow as they approached Christmas Eve, filled with stress about finding Louis his perfect gifts, because he's his boyfriend. His fucking boyfriend. 

Right after the events from that evening took place and he returned home, he ran straight to Gemma's room to squeal his lungs out from pure joy. She thought he was having a stroke, which goes to show how little she knows about medical conditions. But once he retold the events from the night, she was squealing with him. And it felt so nice to be able to talk about it all with her, even if he felt it was a sensitive topic. She was happy for him, and that's all she cared about. 

And now, he's preparing himself for the annual Horan Christmas party. Niall actually invited Louis, who'd gotten Zayn to tag along. Louis guilt-tripped him, saying it was his birthday and that he had to come. Harry thinks he just wanted to watch Zayn squirm around people he didn't know. Either way, it's going to be a lovely Christmas Eve, and he's going to make Louis have the best night. 

They're mates—he'll just act friendly and no one will know. Because it's true; Louis' his mate and his boyfriend. People just can't know the latter.

"Oh, my dashing babies," Anne says with her hand over her heart. 

Harry, after scrambling around for outfits, is finally sitting on the sofa and waiting for Gemma to come down the stairs. He'd gone for a red, plaid suit with a white button-up. It's far out there and bright, and he almost decided against it, but it's Christmas. Why not?

Gemma, on the other hand, is the total opposite of Harry. She's sporting a black dress, with a rounded neckline, and puffy, long sleeves that cuff at her wrists. The dress hits right below her knees, but her black heels make her legs appear longer. She looks stunning; her usual straight hair is curled around her face, giving her a much softer look despite the black. Her face is nearly bare of makeup, save for the light pink gloss on her lips. She looks amazing.

And so does their Mum. Anne's wearing a lovely paisley dress, designed with reds and greens that tie into the Christmassy feel. It's long and hits the floor, the fabric covering her shoes, and the sleeves resembling the style of Gemma's in a way. It's puffed out and then cuffed at the wrists like hers.

"Best be on our way to be fashionably late," she says with a heartwarming smile. "Harry, care to drive?"

He nods and balances Louis', Niall's, and Liam's presents in his hands before tucking them by his side as he stands and fishes the keys out of the bowl on the coffee table. He can't wait to be at the party and drink expensive champagne with his mates. The Horan's are beyond wealthy, so anything they partake of tonight will most likely be the best of the best. 

He'd sorted the gifts in the back before situating himself in the front, soon driving off to Niall's house with a giddy tap of his thumbs against the steering wheel. He's just ready for the night. The Christmas Eve party was always something their family looked forward to; the Horan's are lovely people that adore lavish parties and caviar, but enjoy people and intelligent conversation more. Niall's Dad is always hard at work, being a doctor and all, so his schedule is always hectic and he's hardly ever home. But Harry knows him as the guy that laughed when he got drunk the first time, then offered him another shot to keep the buzz going. 

Irish people are a different breed.

As he pulls into the circle driveway, parks behind another car, and exits the vehicle, he can't help but feel a bit more excitement than usual. He's just excited for everyone's presents, and he's excited to spend the evening with his friends. Also, he's very excited for the food. 

He opens the doors to the house, and Gemma instantly runs inside. Probably to find Tracey, who she adores (she calls Tracey a baby genius, even though she's fifteen). Harry allows his Mum to step in before him, and then he follows after. Almost everyone in town will be here tonight, popping in and saying hi, because nights like this are the only times adults have an excuse to dress up and do something nice. 

The first thing at the top of his mental check-list is to find Liam and Niall to exchange presents—the wrapped gifts in his hands are getting hard to hold. And, as if on cue, Niall emerges down the stairs in a black suit, a skinny tie, and his dark hair combed up. He's holding his hand out as if he was a king or some shit, with a cocky smile on his mouth.

Harry forgot how much Niall becomes full of himself during these parties.

"Harry, my good man!" He calls out, hopping off the last step, and approaching Harry. "I see my gift!" 

Harry shakes his head and laughs. "Yeah. Where's Liam?"

"Right here, lads!" Liam announces as he wraps his arms around the two tightly. "Who's ready to party?"

Harry rolls his eyes and nearly drops the gift between his hip and hand. "Can we go somewhere so I can put these down?"

"The kitchen it is!" Niall shouts with his finger in the air. 

They all follow Niall to the kitchen; it's a long process due to the older people stopping them to ask how they are, and how the bakery is holding up. Harry just smiles through it, and even sometimes pretends like he doesn't hear anything. There is music playing, after all. It's a live band playing jazz, so the soft Christmas music radiating throughout the house makes for a calming atmosphere.

"Champagne, champagne," Niall repeats as he hands out glasses of the bubbly drink. He chugs his down in one go and then pours himself another glass.

"Take it easy, Niall, it's only eight o'clock," says Harry.

Niall only shrugs. "I'm Irish, bitch."

Harry widens his eyes in surprise. "You're buzzed already!" 

Niall's known for getting feisty when he's had a few drinks in him.

"And had a hash brownie. What about it?" Niall says with a wide grin. He did appear a little bit more at ease than usual.

Harry puts the gifts on the nearest counter that wasn't covered in booze or food, and takes a sip of his champagne with a smile. "Where's the rest, then?"

Niall's brows raise at Harry's question, and Liam laughs at his side. "Harry, boy, getting wild tonight?"

He only shrugs and sips a little more of his champagne. 

"Well, in that case," Niall starts. He opens the fridge and pulls out a bag of chocolate brownies, dangles them in front of Harry, and then sways it back and forth. "Take one."

Right in that moment, a familiar voice sounds out through the kitchen and Harry wants to shriek from excitement, but that would be ridiculous. So he settles on smiling widely and almost chugging the rest of his champagne in that moment to give him something to do.

"Ooh, brownies in the fridge? That's an odd one, Horan," Louis says with Zayn following closely behind him. His eyes find Harry's not a second later and he flashes a wide smile as if it was just a casual thing to do. Coming from Louis, it probably did seem casual.

"Harry's about to have a taste," Niall says as he hands over the brownie. 

Harry takes it and instantly breaks it in half. It was a rather large brownie. He's aware of the eyes on him, but he's not going to put the entire thing in his mouth and eat it in one bite. He nibbles the corner of it and then offers Liam the other half, which he takes rather quickly. He looks up at him and notices he's staring at Zayn, so he looks at Zayn with raised brows. As soon as he looks back at him, he furrows his brows and shakes his head as if telling Harry to stop.

He only smiles.

"Good?" Louis asks. He'd somehow managed to sneak by Liam and stand right beside him. 

He's certain it looks casual!

"Yeah, it actually is. Surprisingly, it tastes like a normal brownie," Harry says with a nod. "Want Niall to give you one?"

Louis laughs and shakes his head. "No, I'm good. Thank you."

Harry finishes off his half-brownie and then reaches for his glass of champagne that was topped off by the wait staff—they're magical people that never allow a glass to go empty.

"You're in for a treat tonight," Harry says to Louis in a quieted voice. He sips more of his champagne. "There's a jazz band, if you didn't hear. And there'll be a violin playing by your favorite Irish lad." He motions to Niall, and Niall bows. "And then the annual tree lighting ceremony."

Louis parts his lips from shock and gestures toward the living room with his hand. "I saw that thing! It's fuckin' huge!"

"They like to show off a bit," he says with a soft smile. He wants to tell him happy birthday but he doesn't want Louis to be put off by it. He didn't think it'd be this hard.

"Louis, want a glass of champagne?" Niall asks him as he smiles widely between the two of them. "Trust me, you've never had any like this."

Louis, with narrowed eyes, takes the offered glass and gives it a quick sniff. "You know little about me, Niall." He takes a tiny sip and then displays a wide smile, soon going back for more. "Bollinger. Damn, that's good."

Niall guffaws and almost hunches over, but then stops halfway to hit Louis' shoulder out of surprise. "Incredible!" He then looks at Harry. "I like this one."

Harry rolls his eyes. "You always have."

Niall waves his arms around to be dramatic. "Yeah, but I was just sayin'."

"Okay, let's exchange gifts before the night gets too crazy!" Harry shouts out to break the dead conversation up between Liam and Zayn. 

He expectantly watches both Niall and Liam fan out to retrieve their gifts, and as soon as they leave, Harry turns to grab Louis' birthday gift from the stack of presents. He just has to get it over with since they'll be back soon, but maybe it's for the better. Less time for Louis to show his anger for him acknowledging his birthday.

"Louis," Harry says as he shoves a messily wrapped present toward him. "For you. Happy birthday."

Louis blinks over at him and doesn't grab the present, just stares at him with an almost bored expression. "Harry, you didn't have to. Especially since I said to forget about it."

Harry pushes the present into Louis' chest until he finally grabs it. "It's your birthday. I had to do something, Louis."

"He's right, you know," Zayn speaks up, a glass in his hand filled with dark liquid. He swirls it around before sipping it slowly. "You used to love your birthday."

"Yeah, well. It tends to not matter anymore when you get older," he says with a shrug of his shoulders. "And it sucks having a birthday on Christmas Eve."

Harry can't help but frown. "Open your present."

Louis looks back over at him and then down at his present, which he tentatively starts ripping open with a straight face. "Oh," he mutters once the box is opened. He instantly starts to laugh—Harry's not sure why. "Oh," he says again.

Harry bites his lip and presses his cold glass to his reddening cheeks. "Oh?" he quietly repeats.

"No," Louis immediately says. "No, this is a good reaction!" 

He at least sounds happy. But who laughs at a present?

"It is," Zayn lowly comments, head turning to view their surroundings, uninterested.

"Harry, how did you know?" Louis asks as he lifts the object out of the box. It's a simple camera strap, made from brown leather, unlike his black one made from a stiff cloth. "Shit, that looks nice."

Harry can't help but smile. Maybe he just has weird reactions to things when he likes something, or is surprised by something, but either way, he seems rather happy by it.

"Um, you said you liked that style not too long ago. Uh, so I just, like, found one that—that I thought you'd like? It's not much," he says after struggling with his words. He's not quite sure how to act.

"No, it's wonderful. It's more than enough. Thank you, Harry," Louis sincerely says. He smiles at him—his eyes are almost softer as he stares, and Harry almost melts on the spot.

"You're welcome. Your initials are engraved on the inside as well."

Louis gasps and flips it inside-out to look at the L.T. marked into the leather.

"Aw, you opened presents without us? Bogus!" Niall shouts.

———

The night had gone on wonderfully. Niall played the violin with his sister before the tree lighting ceremony, which is always a treat. It's really the only time he plays, and every time Harry hears him, he swears he gets better than the last time. It's strange, considering it's the only time he plays publicly. Shouldn't he be getting worse?

At the moment, he'd somehow convinced Louis to go outside with him to cool down. It got hot the more he drank, and the more he ate, and the more he danced (he did very little of it), and he was still sort of high. He may have had a little bit more of Niall's special brownies—they were just too good!

"Your cheeks look like two large tomatoes," Louis says with a laugh. He places the back of his hand against Harry's face and whistles. "Damn. You're burning up."

"You're burning up," Harry says with a giggle. "'Cause you're hot and all."

"All right," he breathes out, his hands deep in his pockets.

Harry almost slaps himself. He forgot to compliment Louis on his outfit! It's magnificent and beautiful, and his bum looks incredible in it. His boyfriend's bum, that is. He's wearing a tan suit with a deep brown collared shirt underneath, and he looks so tasteful and rich. Maybe he's a tiny bit drunk and a tiny bit high, but he wants to take a bite out of him.

"Absolutely not," Louis says with a cackle.

Harry gasps. "Did I say that out loud?"

Louis shakes his head. "No, no. I didn't hear anything about you wanting to take a bite out of me. Um, in fact, I heard the opposite."

Harry's brows draw in. "What's the opposite?"

Louis looks off into the backyard, eyes roaming as he tries to think of something to say. He finally settles his bright blues back on Harry, and laughter escapes his mouth and it sounds almost musical to his ears. He wishes to just walk over and pepper kisses all over his handsome face, but the risk of getting caught is far too high at this busy party. 

"I wanted to do stuff for your birthday," he confesses, their eyes locked onto each other's. 

"Like what?"

Harry purses his lips and shrugs. "Like show up to your house and cook for you. Something like that. Can we do that sometime soon anyway?" He looks back up at Louis to find him smiling at him, and even though he does it a lot, it still takes Harry's breath away. "And bake you a cake."

"Harry Edward," Louis gasps out with his hand on his chest. "You romantic!"

Harry giggles (without meaning to) and rolls his eyes. "I'm really not."

"Hey, you two!" Niall shouts suddenly. 

Harry jumps and instinctively steps away from Louis.

"Stop sucking each other off and get inside. We're lighting this bitch up!"

Harry groans and flips him off; Niall's humor becomes weird the more he smokes and drinks, so it's not surprising that he comes out and yells something that vulgar at them. Louis, on the other hand, looks almost frightened by the joke. Niall leaves after flipping Harry off right back.

"That's just how he jokes," he instantly says. Louis only nods. "I swear."

"No, yeah, I can see that. He's unfiltered."

"Hey," he says, a smile returning to his face. "Let's go watch them light that bitch up." 

Louis walks over to Harry and places his hand next to his own, fingers grazing over his knuckles, and their pinky's locking together for a few seconds. It's enough to make his heart flutter, and it's enough to make the part of him that wants to throw himself at Louis contained. He's not sure why since it's such a small gesture, but it's so gentle and sweet that he can't help but maybe fall for him even harder. 

If that's even possible.

— Christmas day —

"Father Christmas outdid himself this year," Gemma tiredly says with a yawn. She's wrapped up in a robe that she hugs herself with. 

It's early, it's cold, but it's Christmas. They've always woken up early on this day, and the tradition carried over the older they got. The excitement of a bundle of gifts was just too much to hold in, so the both of them rushed down like eager children at seven in the morning as soon as they woke up.

"Father Christmas says thank your wonderful mother," Anne says.

Harry grins and rushes over to her side on the couch to hug her tightly. She laughs and pats the top of his head, while Harry squeezes her even more. "Thanks, Mum!" he over-joyously says. 

"You're welcome, darling. But open your gifts before you thank me for them."

And they both do. They tear into the boxes at the same time, and the both of them take breaks throwing paper at each other once they've balled it up. Harry, to his surprise, got a surplus amount of new shirts that weren't exactly his style, but he'll have to wear them anyway to please his Mum. And he got a new record! It was a Bruce Springsteen album that he hadn't yet bought for himself, and really, she did way too much. Their annual fruit basket was on the coffee table, wrapped in cellophane and tied with a bow on top. Just another tradition kept alive throughout a confusing, amazing, and emotional year. It's nice. Especially without his Dad here to dampen the mood. And what's even more incredible is the fact that their Dad sent over gifts the night before for them to open in the morning—no strings attached! They don't have to see him, and he isn't coming over. Talk about a great Christmas.

"Mum, I hope you know how much we appreciate you," Gemma softly says as she fumbles around with her new dress.

Anne goes quiet for a second. Harry takes the opportunity to hand her their gifts so that it isn't an awkward silence, but he knows she's just taking in Gemma's words. It's a lot for her to say that. They fight so much that kind words are hardly spoken, especially from Gemma. She's just stubborn.

"Um," she anxiously starts. "I know we usually bump heads and stuff, but you're my Mum. I love you and look up to you—especially with what happened this year." She starts to laugh and it almost sounds sarcastic. "We seem to have the same bad taste in men, but I can't be too upset with that since I was created from it. Um. Yeah."

She then stands and moves to sit beside her, tucking herself at Anne's side and wrapping an arm across her torso in a—what seems—desperate form of affection. Anne has a look of surprise on her face, but she moves her hand down to rub soothing patterns across Gemma's back and Harry may be close to tears. 

Overall it was a wonderful day. Harry eventually asked his Mum and Gemma to open their presents; Anne went first, and she shed a few tears once it was opened. It was just the framed pictures from their Christmas photoshoot, that just so happened to turn out beautifully. They all looked happy and more family-like than ever—more so than when it was the four of them. He'd also gotten her a new charm for her bracelet, so. He did really well in the gift department.

He got Gemma a new makeup thing she said she wanted (it was a black tube with spikes at the end of a stick—he wasn't exactly sure what it was), a purple shawl with stringy bits (again, he doesn't know what it is), and a new journal that was on her Christmas list. Now, they all lie among the mess, feeling too lazy to clean up the chaos that ensues after a Christmas morning. He'd promised Louis he'd see him when he could sneak away, but it might be later than normal. He just doesn't want to rush things with his family, especially after Gemma's emotional bonding moment with their Mum.

"So, Harry," his Mum says, her tea in her hands. "When do you have to leave?"

Harry's brows scrunch together tightly as he stares back at her. What could she possibly mean?

"For Louis'. You left a present for him under the tree—it's only fair he gets in on Christmas day. How is he? He didn't see his family this year?" she asks, and it sounds like it's out of genuine interest.

She really does care for him.

"Yeah, I—I just forgot to give it to him last night," he mutters out a lie. "And, um, guess not."

She suddenly sits up straighter. "That won't do. Get on your coats," she determinedly says. 

"Our coats?" Harry questions, but he slowly stands because of the haste his Mum is suddenly displaying. 

"To go to Louis'," she simply says, scouring the room for her shoes and any other personal belongings. "I'm going to cook, and you're going to give him his present and—oh! I need to stop at the bakery!"

Harry looks at Gemma with wide eyes, almost hoping she can see the desperation in them. 

"Uh, Mum?" she calls out, her eyes moving away from Harry's and to her frantic mother. "What do you mean?"

She finally stops pacing back and forth to stare at her confused children, only to sigh and place a hand on her hip. "We're going to see Louis. He shouldn't be alone on Christmas, and I'm going to cook there. I'll just finish the roast at his home. Yeah. It'll be great! And none of you are allowed to tell me no, so go get your bloody coats on!"

He groans and starts to stomp upstairs. Well, there goes the evening he was going to spend alone with Louis. He's not even sure he wants his entire family over, but it looks like it's what he's going to get anyway. Maybe he should ring him to warn him, but he doubts he can dart past his Mum and call him with her downstairs. It's all fucked.

He's anxious when they drive over, and he's anxious as he's taking the food out of the car that his Mum's going to finish preparing at Louis' house. Anyone in their right minds would be upset with their home unexpectedly being invaded by a family, so he just embarrassingly stands behind Gemma whilst his Mum knocks on his large door.

He's so annoyed that he can't even think straight. And he doesn't want to look up from the ground when Louis opens the door, and most likely sports a surprised look upon seeing the Styles' turned up on his porch.

"Um, hello," Louis says with a slightly uncomfortable laugh. 

Harry squeezes his eyes shut.

"Louis, darling, I hope you don't mind the intrusion, but it was brought to my attention that you're not doing anything for Christmas. As a mother, I can't allow that to happen. May we come in?" Anne says.

And then it's quiet. Harry squeezes his eyes shut even tighter than before, but the silence goes on for so long that he has to open them and see the expression Louis has on his face. Whether it's good, or terribly bad. 

But it's neither. 

It's one that looks like he's overwhelmed and doesn't know how to respond. He swallows thickly, forces a smile, and nods slowly.

"Um, yeah. Please do." He opens his door wider.

Anne noticeably grins and kisses him on the cheek rather quickly before walking inside, Gemma following right after. Harry slowly steps forward to take in the expression on Louis' face up close, which is twisted in a way that makes it appear as if he's holding in tears. He stands at the door without saying word, waiting for Harry to, and so he does.

"Is this really okay?" he quietly asks.

Louis looks up at him and sniffles. Fuck. He's actually on the verge of tears. His eyes look piercingly clear and blue, rimmed with tears, but he quickly averts his eyes to shield the look on his face. 

"More than okay," he whispers back; his hand comes up to rub at his eyes. Harry reaches out to place his hand on Louis' cheek—he can't help it. "You have a nice family, Harry," he shakily says.

Harry swipes his thumb across the top of Louis' cheekbone, a smile forming over his own lips. "They seem to really like you. Not as much as I do, but..."

Louis smiles with a shake of his head and Harry drops his hand. "Come in, boyfriend. Give me your present and I'll give you mine."

Did he mention that life is a wonderful, terrible, and amazing thing? 

The more he thinks about it, the more Harry realizes that the wonderful and amazing things might just outweigh the bad. The terrible things might mean he can't kiss his boyfriend in front of loved ones, but the wonderful and amazing part is that he can say he has a boyfriend. One that buys him a new bloody turntable and a new variety of records he couldn't have possibly deserved. He almost burst into tears when he opened them in secret (Louis lured him away from his family to open the gifts), and it was only a little bit because he felt bad for getting him a dumb cookbook, a new sweater, and a few of his favorite chocolates. Louis repeatedly said he didn't care what he got, but he couldn't help but feel these things. He basically blew most of the money he saved up on his new camera strap, but he couldn't mention that.

Then Louis kissed him, with both of his hands securely holding Harry's face, and his breath hard against his mouth, and his front pressing close to his own. It's unfair that it was cut short due to his family being downstairs. His body still lit up with what felt like an all consuming fire, one that hadn't quite dimmed since he went to that bloody gay bar. It's like it was always burning inside him, and when they touched or kissed, it amplified into a roaring, unquenchable flame. 

He can't help but smile when Louis pulls away. 

"Merry Christmas, Harry."

Can he smile even bigger? He thinks he just did.

"Merry Christmas, Louis."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey alllll. taking a tiny christmas break from writing. i’ll be back soon <3


	32. 31.

He got drunk on New Year's. Like, really drunk. It happened so fast, kept chasing shot after shot (it didn't help that Matty and Barry kept challenging him to take more shots. He can't turn one down if he's already drunk), until he basically passed out in Matty's bedroom. 

It was a blur of a night.

He'd woken up the next morning in his own bed, with a note from Louis saying that he hoped he wasn't going to be too sick, and that he should call when he could. He ended up very sick. 

That's all he wants to think about from New Year's. Thinking back on it still makes him nauseous. 

But the kiss he'd sneakily received from Louis in the bathroom doesn't exactly make him nauseous. Quite the opposite, actually.

And then, out of the blue, his Mum asked about Jenny. Asked if she could come over to the house for dinner, to which he fumbled around for a reply. She then simply nodded as if something was confirmed for her, and then said he could talk to her when he's ready. He isn't stupid; she thinks they broke up and he's having a hard time talking about it. It's the best scenario to go with—whichever idea causes her to not talk about it is a win in his book.

A thought that always freaks him out—one that's occurring more and more as of late—is the way time ticks by so quickly. It was just Christmas, and it was just New Year's, but now it's all passed. These things in his life that take forever to build up and reach, always are the most fleeting. 

It's beginning to feel that way with Louis.

Not in a bad way, either, just in a way that he can't believe he's actually reached it. So much time was spent concealing emotions and longing for touches, and now they're tangible. They're real. Louis' his boyfriend, and they make-out all the time, and it's wonderful. It feels like it happened so fast—yet so slow—all at the same time. He doesn't want to think about what comes next, whether it's good or bad, because a part of him will always wonder if time will fuck it up. He just wants to live in the now, as fleeting as it may be.

It also feels like he's on the cusp of something amazing or terrible. It's like he's waiting for a shoe to drop, one that will change his life or destroy it. He's not quite sure why he's feeling this way—possibly because so much drama has circled around his life that it's strange to not have it anymore. Surely that's it. And he's also looking into universities, which is a task far harder than he'd envisioned. The thing about music degrees, or pursuing it, is that one must be able to read it. Or play in a school band. Harry doesn't know either of those things, so what could he possibly do? What life-altering decision does he go with? 

And what does he do the day it approaches? Do he and Louis stay together despite the distance, or do they...separate? It's a thought Harry doesn't want to think about, so he shakes his head and shoves his school work away from him—anything to put distance between what's causing those thoughts.

Maybe he will take Gemma's offer on hanging out with her friends tonight. He just needs to let loose. Even if the thought of alcohol still makes him nauseous.

"So, is that a yes?" Gemma asked once Harry walked over to her room to voice his thoughts.

He still wasn't sure. A part of him wants to go to keep an eye on Gemma. 

"It's not a no," he mutters. "I'll keep thinking about it."

"It's a yes," she says with a roll of her eyes. He can't help but laugh. "You can invite Liam and Niall if you wanted to."

Harry pursed his lips for a second. That actually might make things more fun. "I'll, uh, call them." He left her room to head downstairs to get to the rotary, where he dialed Niall's number by memory and patiently waited for someone to pick up. He's sure Niall would be up for it.

"Hello?" Mrs. Horan answers.

"Hi, it's Harry! Is Niall there?"

"I'll go fetch him, Harry," she replies.

He leans against the wall, telephone pressed to his ear, as he waits for Niall.

"Harry!" he loudly says from the other line.

Harry jumps out of surprise and laughs. "Hey, Niall. I was calling because there's a party Gemma and I were going to, and I wanted to know if you'd like to come."

"You know I'm always up for a party," Niall happily says. He sounds like he's smiling. "Where at?"

"Matty and Barry's. Remember them? From the party we threw at your house?"

"Yeah, yeah. All right. Time?"

"Probably around ten. Want us to pick you up? I'll call Liam to see what he says."

"Sounds like a plan, mate. See you then!"

He bids him farewell, hangs up, picks the handset back up, and then dials Liam's number. He hums to himself as the telephone rings, and waits for an answer.

"Hello?"

"Liam!" Harry happily greets. "Want to go to a party tonight with Niall and me?"

"Uh, sure. Where's it at?"

"I'll pick you up around ten. It's at Matty and Barry's."

"All right, I'll be ready!"

Harry hangs up the telephone and practically skips up the stairs out of happiness. He may not be drinking tonight (a driver's duty), but he can't wait to hang out with his mates and avoid his thoughts for as long as he can. A good distraction is always healthy.

———

"Fuck yeah!" Niall shouts as soon as he reaches the car. He slams the door behind him closed and leans between Gemma and Harry with a wide grin. "Are we ready, lads?"

Gemma laughs and looks at him with a smile. "I'm a lad?"

Niall nods reaches out to ruffle her perfectly curled hair. "Definitely."

She settles back into her seat and hums happily to herself. Harry silently drives to Liam's house with a feeling of content deep in his chest. It almost feels fuzzy—as strange as it sounds—and warm. The two of them continued to talk back and forth, conversation ranging from their favorite alcoholic beverages, to the stupid thing Niall had just done that morning. He thinks he said something about dipping Tracey's toothbrush into the toilet after she mouthed off at him, but Harry can't be sure. He'd rather not listen in on that.

He pulled off the side of the road once he reached Liam's house, to which he was already awaiting with a large coat wrapped around his body. Niall instantly scooted over to allow Liam easier access into the vehicle.

"Greetings!" Liam immediately says.

Harry steps on it, speeding off to Matty and Barry's house as the three others talk amongst themselves. He's not sure why it'd never been the four of them before, going out to parties or just hanging out. It's nice to not worry about his sister for a change, to worry where she's disappeared to for the night and if she's truly okay. It's just a good fit.

And he can't wait to be with her good friends, who are easy to be around, and are like him. Matty and Barry don't know about him, obviously, but it's still nice to be around them to see he and Louis aren't alone in it. There are others like them. 

"Mum said I can't be out past one," Liam says. Niall groans.

"Not a problem. I wasn't playing on staying later than that anyway," Harry responds.

"Losers," Niall says. Gemma nods. "Looks like I'll be catching a ride back with someone else."

Harry rolls his eyes. "No, we stick together. I'm the responsible one tonight, so what I say goes!"

"Yes, mum," says Niall with a snort.

———

It was already packed full of people when they arrived. He'd parked at the end of the drive and couldn't quite understand how Matty and Barry knew so many people to throw these parties. Their home wasn't huge or anything, just an average two bedroom that they were renting out for the time being. They said their landlord thought they were just very good university friends, which had Harry laughing. Then frowning. Then slightly spiraling for a bit, but then he was okay. He knows not everyone is accepting—even landlords, who have a right to turn anyone away. It's just sad to think about.

So, that's exactly the reason he came out tonight. He's tired of feeling sad about these inconvenient thoughts that like to pop up and bring down his mood entirely, and for that to calm down, he needs to smoke. He wants to, more like. He won't have a drop of alcohol since he's the one driving, but a few drags of Mary Jane should be fine. He won't get too high so he can stay alert, but fuck, he just wants to calm down. 

The three others veer off into the kitchen, while Harry makes for the couch. It's obvious and predictable that's where everyone was—good seating is hard to come by at a packed party, so they'd always occupy the couch; no matter where they're at.

"Harry, babe!" Matty says, his hair looking exceptionally long this evening. His eyes were red and his cheeks pink. "Glad you could make it. Is Gem-Gem here?"

Harry nods and smiles at Cleo when she scoots over on the love-seat to make room for him. She was curling up against Lea, who'd thrown her arm around her. 

"They're getting a drink," he answers.

"They?" Barry asks, a beer in his hand and a doobie in the other. 

"Niall and Liam. I asked if they could come. They're my best mates."

"Oh, Harry," a familiar voice calls out. Soft and kind. "It's been too long!"

"Jenny," he says with a smile. She's wearing a mini-dress with long sleeves, the color a sweet pink with delicate flowers patterned throughout it. She walks over and kisses his cheek, then sits beside him on the armrest. "How've you been?"

"Lovely, thank you," she replies. Her arm is thrown over his shoulder and he can't help but smile happily. 

He does miss her. She was the only one that ever talked about poetry and passions, all while being so passionate. It was lovely.

"I can't believe you two are still this close after a break-up. Strange," Matty says with squinted eyes.

"Break-up?" 

Harry turns his head to find Liam standing behind him, a beer in his hand, and a confused look on his face. Niall and Gemma emerge just seconds later, both of them sipping their drinks, while Liam steps closer to him.

"You two broke up?"

Harry nods. Jenny nods. "Yeah. Recently." He coughs and he feels Jenny's arm move away from his shoulder.

"Oh," he says with a nod.

"Come on, find a seat. Plenty of room," Barry says, motioning to the few extra chairs. 

Zayn emerges from the hallway, his signature leather jacket on, and his hair slicked up out of his eyes. He pats his hands on his jeans as if they were wet (he must have come from the bathroom), and his eyes sweep over the people who'd just arrived. His eyes find Liam's not a moment later and he nods, then moves to sit on the floor beside the couch, his back pressing against it. 

"Well, are you all right?" Liam asks as he sits in the available chair. Coincidentally, it's next to Zayn.

He can't help but smile. It's a bit awkward to fake a relationship, pretend it ended, all while having the lady it happened with right beside him. He nods nonetheless. "Yeah, I am. We decided we're better as—" he cuts himself off to look up at her. She smiles down at him. "As friends."

Niall and Gemma finally take their seats. He sat in a chair at the other end of the love-seat, by Lea and Cleo, and Gemma took a seat that was empty by Liam. 

"Want a drag?" asks Cleo.

Harry nods and grabs the rolled-up blunt from her long, thin fingers, and then places it between his lips. He inhales it deeply, pulls it away, holds it in his lungs, before exhaling the white smoke out. He repeats this action a few times before giving it back and settling against the couch more comfortably. He likes letting his mind fog over with his eyes shut, with conversation and music surrounding him. The stuff always hits him fast since he doesn't smoke often, which is something he's sort of grateful for. 

He took a few more hits once another one was passed over, and then held it out for whoever wanted it. When he finally opened his eyes and looked around, he only noticed the happy faces of friends that enjoyed being together. He wonders why Matty and Barry throw huge parties if they don't even interact with others—wouldn't it be simpler to just hang out with their close group? Or do they like being around strangers? Maybe, since they're not afraid to be themselves, they like to show it off in any way they can. 

He's still yet to figure them out. 

Niall's downed a few shots at this point, his cheeks a deep red that made his blue eyes stand out. He thinks Gemma was making it a game and trying to out-drink him, which Niall was taking far too seriously. 

And then there's Liam, who was actually talking to Zayn. He was still sitting on the floor, but his eyes were on Liam and not leaving his face as he spoke. He looked a lot more kind—more open, perhaps. His face appeared relaxed and almost as if it'd be easy for him to smile, which is the complete opposite of Zayn Malik. He thinks he might actually have a strong crush on Liam. Poor, oblivious Liam. With his left leg awkwardly shaking, and his right hand nervously waving around as he spoke. 

Was he that obvious with Louis?

Matty and Barry seemed to notice, too, with nudging and smiling, a finger motioning between the two humorously. They whispered amongst themselves and otherwise kept it secretive, but sometimes Matty couldn't quite help his gestures and obvious looks. They knew. They probably knew with him, too.

"Harry, you all right over there?"

He flicks his eyes over to his sister and he begins to smile. "Perfect."

She laughs, and the next thing he knows, she and Niall are disappearing together for more drinks. He should've known the two of them would get hammered; they love a good party.

"Oh, damn," he hears Liam mutter.

"Oh, you should probably get that cleaned," Zayn says. "Before it stains. Here, I can help."

His eyes lazily follow their movements. Liam spilt his drink on his trousers, and Zayn just so happened to jump at the opportunity to help. He supposes he's just being a good mate, though. Soon they're both leaving and walking down the hall to get him cleaned up, leaving Harry alone with the rest of the gang and a comfy couch he could probably go to sleep on. 

"So, how are you and Louis?" Jenny quietly asks now that mostly everyone has cleared out.

He smiles at the mention of his boyfriend's name. "We're fantastic. He's my boyfriend, you know."

She laughs at his side and pats his head. "That's wonderful! I'm glad you two are working out. I'm glad you're happy."

"Are you happy?" he questions.

She's silent for a moment. He takes this time to finally look up at her, but she's only looking down at the cup in her hand with an unreadable look. 

"I'm fine," she says. "Still not over what happened to Gemma and Steve. He's, like, banned from everything now. Can't see us. Can't come to our parties. He was so fucked up for that."

"I think Gemma's better," he whispers to her. His emotions were far too relaxed and content to pick up on any true sadness in her voice, but then again, maybe it just wasn't there. "I hope she is."

"She looks lighter," Jenny spoke. She then turned her head as if something caught her attention. Harry followed her eyes and found it was Niall and Gemma she was staring at; they were both laughing in between shots. "Happier."

"Ooh, who do we have here?"

Harry's eyes instantly snapped back. A small woman with blonde hair and a long-sleeved dress was drunkenly staring at him, swaying back and forth on her heels, and smiling widely. She was petite and cute, but in the most I-like-boys kind of way as possible. 

"You're handsome," she giggles out.

Harry looks behind himself, but no one was there. Was she talking about him?

"Uh, me?"

She laughs more, inches forward, and nearly falls over. "Yeah. Wanna dance?"

"I'm—I'm good, thank you," he softly says. Probably too softly over the music.

"Oh, come on. You're going to turn me down? Please? Just one dance!" Her hands folded together over her chest, begging, and he can't help but sigh.

"I'm not much of a dancer," he persists, though his voice didn't sound so convincing. 

She grins. "I'll help you!" She reaches out for him and grabs his hands, and he can't really say no. He'll look like a dick if he did. Jenny's laughing beside him, and he almost starts laughing as well, but this drunk girl's grip was surprisingly tight as she helped pull him to his feet. "To the dance floor!" she loudly says.

Her fingers are tangled in his, hand thrown on her shoulder as she takes him to where everyone else was dancing. She then spun around and grinned widely, her hands guiding his around her waist, and hers resting around his neck. He couldn't quite tell if she was still that drunk, because it looked like she'd sobered up somehow. Maybe he's just high as fuck, but it made him feel weird. He's not sure if he likes it. But it's just a simple dance, so he should be fine.

"What's your name?" she asks. She somehow got closer to him, the distance between them almost nonexistent. 

"Um, Harry. You?" he stiffly asks. Her thumbs rub over the back of his neck and, in the nicest way possible, he wishes to swat them away. 

"Evelyn. I go by Evie," her soft voice says. She leans closer to him and rests her head by his shoulder, close to his neck. "I'm not gonna break, babe. You can touch me wherever you like."

Harry blinks and stops his swaying movements altogether. She looks up at him in that instant, her left hand slowly trailing down from his neck and over his chest. "I should get back," he says, forcing a smile, and attempting to step away.

She slightly digs her nails into the back of his neck. "We didn't even finish the song!"

He breathlessly searches for an excuse, but she somehow manages to get him to resume the dance, with her hands around his neck again, and his hands barely on her waist. He felt so awkward—like he was doing something wrong. He truthfully didn't want to dance with her, he just wanted to sit down with his mates and not care for a moment. It feels like his foggy mind has finally cleared up, and he knows those pesky, overthinking thoughts will return shortly.

"If you're scared about dancing in front of everyone," she says, lips scarily close over his ear. "We can surely find an empty room." 

And she has the audacity and confidence to place a soft kiss on his neck.

He instantly detangles himself from her grip, a look of disgust and displeasure written all over his features as he wipes at the wet spot on his neck. She looks offended to have been declined by his actions, and before she can stomp off, she curses him and turns around with her hair flying around her, before leaving altogether. He can't help but shiver as if something vile had just happened. He feels...icky. 

"Mate," Niall says. He comes from out of nowhere and throws an arm around his shoulder, eyes unable to stare directly into his own as he sways back and forth. Harry puts an arm around his waist so that he doesn't fall and take him down with him. "Were you into that? I fucking thought you and Louis were together," he cackles out, head thrown back, and Harry almost lets him fall.

His eyes are wide, his mouth hung open, and he can't form a response. There's nothing he can say. Does he laugh it off? Does he ask what he means by it? How does he fucking know? 

Fuckfuckfuck.

"Niall, I—"

"Hang on." His tone switches to a more serious one, but then his face pales. "Gonna hurl." And with that, he's running to the nearest bathroom.

Harry feels like he could hurl, too.

———

"Niall," he spoke once he'd left the bathroom. They were the only ones in the hall so it left them with a little bit of privacy. "What did you meant by that?"

"By what?" he groans out, a frown etched onto his face. "I need more alcohol to replace what I've just thrown up. Balance."

Harry rolls his eyes and stops him from leaving. "Niall," he angrily spoke. He just needs to know what he knows! Drunk people are so fucking difficult. 

"Oi, Harry, the fuck is it?" he huffs out. 

"What do you know?" he questions, practically begging with his eyes to tell him. 

He stops in his tracks, eyes flicking between Harry's, before he's sighing and leaning against the doorframe to the bathroom. His hand is over his stomach as he rubs at it, but soon he's shrugging and looking down. 

"I know," says Niall. He shuts his eyes and rests his head against the doorframe. "I saw you two. I know."

And it feels like his body's shaking all over. His right hand comes up to brush through his hair, and he's not going crazy—he's shaking. 

"Look, mate, you do you," Niall says, waving his hand. "For a second I wondered why you wouldn't tell us. I know we've never talked about that shit, and that we play football and don't talk about feelings, but I realized I don't get it. You know? I don't know what it's like. Fuck, Harry, it wasn't even legal until less than ten years ago, right?" He opens his eyes and scratches his head, as if the topic was the most nonchalant thing to ever happen. "Did you know you're not even at the age of consent? I looked into it at the library, believe it or not. It's fucked up, Harry. You have to be twenty-one for them to think you're old enough to want something like that. Twisted."

Harry feels lightheaded. "Um, we—we haven’t, like, you know—"

"I don't care what happens behind closed doors. Louis' nice. I like him. I'm just looking out for you, mate. You just—be careful. In public, and with who you tell. Be careful."

He feels tears well up in his eyes. It's not like he's looked into the law regarding his relationship—he's just been so caught up in feeling so wonderful and elated with having a boyfriend and discovering who he is to worry about anything else.

Fuck.

This isn't what he was expecting to happen when he went out for the night.

"I'm fucking drunk, so I'm blaming it on that," Niall says. 

Harry furrows his brows, wondering what he's meaning by it, but then he realizes it as he's leaning over and awkwardly throwing his arms around his shoulders. It takes him a moment to reciprocate the hug, and when he does, he wraps his arms around his mate tightly and is almost about to cry. He doesn't care if Niall thinks it's awkward to give him a hug—he's accepting. That's all that matters. He still loves him, and he hopefully doesn't look at him any differently. It's a conversation they'll have to have sober, and when they can be more serious, but it still feels like a weight he didn't know he was carrying was lifted from his shoulders. 

"All right," Niall mutters, pulling away from the hug. "I'm gonna get back and drink some more. Your secret's safe with me, Harry." He pats his shoulder before tucking past him, but he stops in his tracks before exiting the hallway. "Do you love him?"

Harry's stunned again. He's never been asked that, never stopped to consider he's in love with Louis yet. He's never been in love to know what it feels like, and if that's what this is: love. 

"I—I don't know," he truthfully says. He sighs deeply. "It's all so new."

"You'd know," Niall says with a shrug of his shoulders. "If you don't see me again, drag me out of the kitchen. Save me from my own drunken doings."

Harry laughs, as forced as it may sound, and he nods slowly. Niall throws up a peace sign with his fingers and leaves altogether, leaving him to ponder anything and everything by himself. The music's suddenly too loud—he can't go back out there yet. He can't will himself to smile and act like everything's normal and fine, when it's the complete opposite.

He decides to take a breather in Matty and Barry’s spare bedroom. He hopes no one would be in there, and as he reaches it and presses his ear to the door, his mind is calmed by the fact that he didn't hear anything vulgar going on. He gently twisted the knob and pushed the door open, stepped in, and of course was proven wrong once his eyes landed on them. His feet somehow froze in place, too, so that added to the embarrassment.

Zayn was crouched down in front of Liam (who was sitting at the edge of the bed), on his knees, and fuck. This is terrible. Fucking terrible. 

"Harry," Liam's voice sounded.

Oh, God.

"Oh, hey," Zayn says, turning.

Harry instantly closes his eyes. "I'll just leave!"

"No, you're okay. I think I've got it all," says Zayn.

Harry can't help but pop an eye open.

"Yeah, you did. Thanks for the help, I wouldn't have been able to figure it out on my own." Liam smiles and then looks back up to Harry.

Harry only blinks. What? 

Zayn stands, and before Harry can do anything, he exhales out of relief once the full view is displayed before him. Zayn had a cloth in his hand and apparently was helping Liam with his trousers from earlier, and not... He doesn't even want to think about it. He's just glad he didn't walk in on anything more than that.

"Thanks again, Zayn. Your hands are magic!" Liam says as he hops up from the bed. Harry almost laughs at the phrasing of his words, but he approaches him as he's leaving. "You okay, Harry? Looks like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine," he smiles out. He nods and leaves the room to rejoin the party, and then Zayn walks out of the bathroom that was connected to the bedroom. He stares with a raised brow and his nose in the air. "Nice of you. To, uh, help."

Zayn looks away and grabs his leather jacket from off the bed, slowly sliding it on and adjusting it before his eyes fall back on Harry. "You all right? You do look pale."

Harry laughs like a maniac. "Yeah! Just found out I have to be hidden forever! I'm totally fine!"

His brows furrow. "Hidden forev—? What do you mean?" he asks.

"We can't ever truly be ourselves, Zayn, that's what I'm saying," he says as he steps closer to him. He's looking at him with an unreadable expression, as if he wasn't prepared to discuss this yet. "It's doomed from the start." 

"Harry, whatever's going on with you, you should just talk to Louis—"

"Zayn," he says, voice dropping, and all traces of mania leaving his tone. "I'm in a relationship with someone that is only legal if it stays hidden, and it's not considered consensual until I turn twenty-one." Zayn's eyes widen, recognition falling over his features. "Fucking doomed."

"Harry, you—you can't think that way. You're grown and know how to make your own decisions. Louis' careful, he's kind, and he'd never take advantage of you—"

"That's not where my mind's at!" Harry yells. He clears his throat and lowers his voice. "I know that. Louis would never. I'm nineteen soon, so, yeah, I know what I'm doing. My feelings for him are all from my heart, Zayn, I wouldn't go for him for something purely sexual."

"I'm not saying you are—"

"And he wouldn't do that with me. I'm just saying, that if we were ever caught and turned in, we'd be in huge fucking trouble. Prison, Zayn. Both of our lives ruined!" Harry's not sure where all this is coming from, but he's so angry that he doesn't know what to do with himself. Why hadn't he researched it? He never knew the details, and he was so naive to not figure it out.

"Okay," Zayn says, voice calm. He walks past Harry and shuts the door, then turns and motions for him to sit on the bed. He does. "Take a moment and think, Harry. Don't interrupt me, just listen." Harry nods, so Zayn continues. "Louis would never pursue a relationship if there was a way to avoid it. The amount of times we talked about it before he took you to London—Harry, he tried so hard to keep his feelings away. He couldn't bare to see you in pain, much less be the one to cause it. So he told me he was going to come clean and allow you to choose whichever path to take. To reject him or accept him."

Zayn huffs, scratches the back of his neck, and then throws his hand in the air. "It's not fair. Believe me, I know. When you want someone so bad it hurts, but it can only happen behind closed doors? What the fuck are we supposed to do with that?" He pauses and shakes his head, and Harry feels like crying again. "If you're uncertain about things, call it off now. Don't suck Louis in only to break his heart due to uncertainty."

"I—fuck, I can't," he says, full-on crying now. He forces himself to look down, so overwhelmed by everything going on. "I don't want to. This is the first time I feel seen and cared for. Like I finally fit in, and I can't stop now. Not when I'm falling so hard for him."

"And that's your choice, Harry. Stay with him. He needs you, probably more than you need him. He's been fucked over for so much of his life, yet he still allows himself to be vulnerable with you. To set himself up for probable heartbreak. Because even if you don't see it, and even if he doesn't know it yet, he's madly in love with you." Zayn inches closer to the door, his hand on the knob. "Don't break his heart, Harry,” is the last thing he says before walking out of the room entirely.

Harry sighs deeply as if it would help calm him, but it doesn't. He wipes his face, prays it isn't red, and falls back onto the bed with a frown. He feels so conflicted—he's taking what Zayn said about Louis being in love with him with a grain of salt, because the words didn't come from Louis himself. And his heart will hurt even more if he starts to think about how he's falling so hard for Louis, and how they'll have to remain a secret for God knows how long. 

It's hard to breathe when it feels like the entire world's against him.

"Harry, there you are!"

He sits up from the bed immediately to find Gemma laughing, the door thrown open, and a look of excitement on her face. "You've got to come see this! Niall's about to beat Cleo at beer pong! Cleo! The beer pong champion!"

"All right," he softly says, pushing himself up, and following her out.

He can make it through the night, and everything will be perfectly fine.

———

He couldn't help himself. He had to see Louis. It was starting to feel like his body might just give out if he didn't see him soon. He'd stayed up all night after the party thinking about their future and their relationship. Is this the other shoe that's dropped? He can only hope not. He's decided he won't let this hold him back—it hasn't changed anything. He still wants to be with Louis, and it's still a secret. It's not like that was ever going to change. 

"You seem off," Louis says by his side. 

He's got his arm around Harry, fingers stroking over his shoulder as he's tucked into him. The television's on, and the newest episode of Two's Company is playing. And Harry's hardly spoken to Louis. He just wants to sit with him—is that too much to ask?

"I'm not," Harry defends.

The light touches stop on his shoulder. “What happened?" Louis asks.

He looks over and begins feeling overwhelmed again. Seeing the concern in Louis' eyes, the care he holds for him, and possibly the love, makes it harder to try and talk. Especially when he just wants to kiss him and feel okay. He just needs to know everything will be okay.

Instead of looking him in the eye while talking, he adjusts himself against Louis so that his head would be resting on his shoulder, and his face hidden into his neck. 

"Niall got me freaked out last night, saying we should be careful. He'd apparently read up about how people like us can only be together privately, and I have to be twenty-one to, like, you know... Consensually do things with you... Um. It was just—"

"Harry," Louis lowly says. Seriously. Harry frowns and feels his heart drop. "Niall knows?"

It's like he can't make himself blink, let alone move. Even when Louis shifts and most likely is wanting him to sit up so they can talk face-to-face. "He figured it out. I didn't tell him," he quietly says.

"Sit up and look at me," his stern voice carries out.

Harry immediately does so, as reluctant as it may be. He can't help but scoot back once he's facing Louis; he looks upset. Possibly mad. 

"I thought we agreed no one was to know," he continues, brows scrunching together. "Niall's right, and it's dangerous if people find out. Why did you tell him?"

"I didn't!" he argues, voice becoming shaky. "He said he saw us. I didn't ask him when, but he said he won't say anything. He's my best mate, Louis, you can trust him."

Louis goes silent, his eyes torn away from Harry's and his brows still drawn in. He's thinking too much, and he wishes to know what thoughts are circulating in his mind, but whatever it is, it doesn't look good. He seems frustrated, even. Mad at Harry, it seems, and he doesn't know what to say or do. He understands the risks, more now than ever, but Niall wouldn't tell a soul. It's not like Louis' been the most secretive, either. From making out in the bakery to gentle touches underneath dinner tables. It's a ridiculous law, and it's not like they're fucking. They're not doing anything wrong.

He stands suddenly, his shoulders visibly tensed underneath the white t-shirt he was wearing, and he starts to head towards the doors to his backyard. "I'm having a smoke," he says, voice soft, but still on edge. "I think you should go."

"S-smoke?" Harry asks, his tone much softer than normal. He sounds like a timid child. "I didn't know you smoked."

"I do," he says, turning at once. "On and off. It's late, Harry. I'll call you, okay?"

He's not sure how to react. Because he doesn't want to get up and leave, he wants to be with Louis. He wants to hold him, kiss him—just be in his presence. Taste the peppermint on his tongue, feel the way his fingertips dance over exposed skin. Anything but this. He appears cold and looks as if his walls are up, and it’s like he’s at square one again. When he didn’t know what Louis’ looks meant, and when he’d shield the look in his eyes away.

"Is this—are we fighting? Are we okay?" he stupidly questions. He's just never experienced this before. He feels sick. 

Louis smiles, tight-lipped, and somehow with no expression at all. "We're okay."

He gulps and stands with a nod; he thinks about going over and kissing him goodbye, but Louis' already turned around and heading out the door. Harry's heart sinks further. 

They're not okay, are they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i just want to say that in no way, shape, or form am i trying to glorify sexual acts underage. in 1967 in the UK, the Sexual Offenses Act was instituted so that homosexual men could have sexual relationships in private, and the consensual age was set at 21. for straight sexual relationships, the age of consent is 16 in the UK (and has been since 1885). harry, in this story, is eighteen (almost nineteen lol) and we all know how homophobic this time was. harry's a full fledged adult, capable of making his own decisions, and is mature enough to be with who he wants to be with. because he's eighteen.
> 
> maybe no one thought of me as trying to glorify this, but i just wanted to explain things going on in this period of life. the Act placed was an advancement nonetheless, seeing as how, beforehand, sexual acts between gay men were a criminal offense, no matter the age. (also sexual acts between women were never illegal in case u were wondering)
> 
> sorry if you didn't come here for a history lesson lol surprise. i just hope this didn't put anyone off. if i'm being honest, it's made it difficult for me to want to include anything sexual between them at all, which is why there's only been cute make-out seshes <3 
> 
> please respect my decision as a writer if i don't add it at all. i don't want to be accused of sexualizing anyone, and i respect these characters too much to force a cheap smut scene that i wasn't 100% behind. you can read thousands of other fics to get off to xx
> 
> SORRY IF IM DISAPPOINTING ANYONE I LOVE THIS STORY AND THESE CHARACTERS ANd i just want everything to go perfectly.
> 
> unnecessarily long rant over! see ya soon!


	33. 32.

Louis didn't call.

He's completely lost on what to do, and feels like he could break down crying at any moment. Going to school was torture enough, but this added drama didn't help. He hurts because he wants to know what's going on. Why Louis' putting so much distance between them, and why he spazzed out when he found out Niall knew about them. 

So is it only okay for Louis' mate to know about them? 

He's not meaning to be bitter. Zayn understands, was there for Louis throughout everything, but still. It's not fair. It only makes him feel worse knowing that he and Niall are now both lying to Liam. Everything is fucked up. Everything.

And his heart actually feels like it's breaking inside his chest. He's gotten clingy without even realizing it; going two days without kissing or hugging Louis has done more damage to him than he would have thought possible. He hadn't realized affection played such a huge role with reassurance. It reassured him in a way that made him feel wanted, and even attractive. He'd never considered himself an attractive person until Louis and his constant touches and kind words. But, fuck, how can they be fighting without even fighting?

"Harry, stop pouting," Niall says with a huff. 

They're sitting together at their usual lunch table, only Liam's not around. Zayn had actually joined them yesterday. He usually keeps to himself at lunch, but Liam invited him to sit and he was pleasant. Friendly, even. But Liam was able to get an early lunch so that he could work with his teacher for extra credit—and Harry's happy with that. Because now he can question Niall.

"I'm not pouting," he grumbles out unhappily. He pushes his fork into the baked chicken and curls his lip in disgust before putting his hands on the table. "Niall, I need to ask you something."

"Uh. Okay?" he curiously responds, brow furrowed. He's wearing a blue turtleneck and dark colored jeans—expensive clothes, no doubt. Harry just isn't fashionable enough to know the brands. "Go ahead."

"Right," Harry nervously starts. He pushes his lunch tray to the side and presses his forearms onto the table, leaning forward, and quieting his voice. "Where did you see? Like, what, specifically?"

"Between you and Louis?" he asks. Harry nods, then Niall shrugs. He leans back into his chair with a sigh and looks around in thought. "Um, the night we played football confirmed it for me. I had my suspicions before then with the way you just drooled at the mention of him."

Harry gasps as Niall starts to laugh. "I never did that!" He huffs. "So, you saw us that night?" Niall only nods. "I fucking had a feeling. But you played it off so well! Why didn't you say anything? How are you so...calm? Like, are you not disgusted with me?"

His brows instantly furrow; he straightens in his chair and scans his eyes over Harry's face carefully, before shaking his head. "Why would I be? There's nothing to be disgusted with. You like guys. Hell yeah. It's your life, mate. And as for not saying anything... Well. I couldn't imagine being in your shoes. After looking into everything at the library, I definitely wasn't going to bring it up. But then I let it slip—" he laughs and scratches his neck. "Sorry, I was drunk. Uh. But, yeah, it just made sense. Why you were being so distant, why you couldn't tell us certain stuff... And Jenny! This one has been eating me alive! Did you really date her?"

Harry shakes his head. "No, it wasn't real. Um. It's a long story," he laughs out, eyes falling down to the table. He just didn't expect Niall to be this way—to be so understanding and okay with things. It isn't how he thought he'd react in the slightest.

"Okay, so why were you pouting?" Niall asks, finally resuming his meal.

"Uh." He sighs and places his chin in the palm of his hand, watching Niall eat without a care in the world. Nothing seems to bother him. He wished he was that care-free all the time. "Louis. We are, I guess, fighting. I don't know. He hasn't talked to me. I don't know what I did."

"Say you're sorry," Niall says between chewing. "That's what I do with Lily. I never know we're fighting when we are, but I just say sorry and she's good to go."

Harry drops a brow and tries to hold back a laugh. "Niall, I can't do that. That's ridiculous. I think he's just upset that you know, and he's—he's just closed himself off."

"Fuck that. It isn't my fault you two were snogging at his front door for the entire town to see!" he defends.

"There might be something else going on, who knows," Harry sighs out. "I wish he'd talk to me. I feel like I'd annoy him if I went to his house."

And that's not what he wants to do. He wants Louis to call him, like he said he would. It only sends a message that he doesn't want to talk to Harry, and it fucking hurts. He doesn't want to look pathetic by going to his house and begging for answers. It does feel better talking about it, though. That's not something he's been able to do with his best mates when life throws him obstacles, and he'd only just now realized how the more difficult it made his life. To be able to talk about Louis, about his life without hiding anything, might be the one think to keep him afloat. 

The lunch bell sounds out and silences any conversation happening, then the noise of trays clattering and being emptied follows. Niall and Harry separate for classes, and as he's making his way down the hall, he immediately notices the famous leather jacket walking away from him. Harry's quick to shove past people, speed his way up, and then grab Zayn by the back of his arm with haste. 

"The fuck?" Zayn says, turning instantly, and shrugging Harry's hand off. He rolls his eyes. "What?"

Harry doesn't think twice before grabbing his arm once more and hurrying into the janitors closet next to them. Zayn groans and flicks on the light, his eyes narrowed, and his plump lips turned downward.

"Harry, what are you—"

"Please," he starts, eyes glued to Zayn's. The angry look vanishes from his face, but his eyes flick down to where Harry's hand is still on his arm, then back up. He's quick to remove his hand. "Have you heard anything?"

Zayn sighs and looks to the door. "Harry, I can't tell you anything. He's my best mate, and what we talk about is private."

"And I get that. But, please, Zayn. I don't know what to do here. I feel like I'm going mad! What did I do? Why is he shutting me out?"

He looks as if he's biting his tongue, but then he blows out air as if he can't keep his words in anymore. "He's thinking, Harry. Let him do his thing. It's just what he does. He shuts everyone out so that he can think about the next steps—the next move."

Harry doesn't know what's going on with his heart anymore. It's thumping too hard, then sinking into his stomach, then thudding loudly in his ears. He's definitely losing it. "The next move?" And his fucking voice betrays any strength he tries to display, with its shaky, low tone. He gulps. "He's breaking up with me," he says, more to himself than to Zayn. His eyes drift upward, his feet moving behind him until he hits a shelf filled with cleaning products. "Isn't he?"

It's possible Zayn's expression confirms these thoughts he's having, so he keeps his head tilted toward the ceiling. It's just too much. They haven't even had the chance to actually talk about it, yet Louis' deciding everything on his own, instead of together. Aren't relationships about figuring their shit out together? He's still so new to this, so he can't be sure.

"He'll call you. He said he would, right?" 

Harry only nods.

"Okay, then. I'm sorry, but it's just best to wait." 

And if he wasn't so goddamn clueless all the time, he wouldn't have taken Zayn's advice. But he did. He waited around when he got home, when supper approached, and when he could barely hold his eyes open at night. The next evening, he slept on the bloody couch. The desperation made him feel all the more insane, but he couldn't help it. The idea of storming over to Louis' house and demanding answers made his stomach churn—he didn't want to seem overbearing. Dramatic. Pathetic. 

It was beginning to even take a toll on his body. He didn't think he'd actually worry himself sick, but he did. His Mum said he felt too warm to go to school the following day, and from morning until evening, he laid on the couch consumed with nausea. It was utterly ridiculous—couldn't believe he was this way over a fight that barely happened! 

"I don't know what it could be," his Mum whispered.

Harry was curled underneath a blanket, unable to regain the energy to walk up to his bedroom. Drowsiness had him nodding off, but once his mother's voice whispered out from somewhere behind the sofa, he couldn't help but force himself to stay awake.

"It's probably just a cold," Gemma responds, voice leveled with Anne's.

"I don't think so." There's something indistinguishable in her tone that uneases Harry. "I think it's something else."

"Like what?" Gemma questions.

Anne's silent; Harry furrows his brows and tries to lay as still as possible, knowing their eyes are on him in this moment. He can just sense it.

"I haven't seen Jenny around," his Mum finally says. Harry instantly furrows his brows. "I think he's heartbroken."

Gemma softly laughs. "Mum, that's definitely not it."

"Then what?" she annoyedly huffs out. "He's been coming out of his shell so much recently, going out and making memories. Now look at him. He and Jenny are definitely broken up."

He hears a sigh. "They've been for quite some time now, Mum." Gemma sounds reluctant to be talking about it. "So, that's not it. He's just ill."

"I had my suspicions," Anne says, defeat laced in her words. He's not sure why. "I hate it for him. Wish he would've told me."

"He's grown, Mum. And he's fine—they were just better off as friends."

He squeezes his eyes shut to try and block out their voices somehow, wishing for sleep to win him over so that he wouldn't have to listen to them discuss what's going on. He doesn't understand it either, and he just wants to go back to normal. 

But then the telephone rings.

He jumps up immediately, eyes wide open, and blanket thrown off his body. His Mum hurries over with a brow furrowed as she eyes Harry, but then she picks up the handset and softly answers. 

It's Louis. It has to be! 

"Oh, no, he's fallen ill, Del," she sorrowfully says. "I'm truly sorry. He's had to stay home from school." She pulls the phone away from her head and his angry voice can be heard from the ear-piece.

It's muffled and he's almost too far away to properly hear it, but he can make out the word "unacceptable," and he instantly sinks back into the couch. The blanket is brought up to his shoulders, his back against the armrest, and his eyes on his Mum as she turns around to shield her facial expressions. She's whispering into the phone so he looks at Gemma instead, her eyes softening once they lock gazes.

"You all right?" she mouths to him.

Harry only shrugs. "Louis," he mouths back. Then he shrugs again. She just sighs and shakes her head sympathetically.

"Harry, I'm taking you to the doctor tomorrow," Anne says once she's hung up the telephone. "Your father's upset you can't make it to his tonight, but you may need some medicine. We just need to figure out what's going on."

He rolls his eyes. "Mum, I'm fine. I just want to be back at school tomorrow. I feel better."

She sighs and walks over to him, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead, then sliding it down to his cheeks with a look of uncertainty. "You don't feel as warm." She exhales deeply and removes her hand. "Fine, I suppose it's okay. Oh, and before I forget, Louis called whilst you were asleep. Said to call him back when you coul—"

"Mum!" Harry loudly says, flinging his blanket off as he shot off the couch. He frantically looks around the room for car keys, and once they're in his line of vision, he's snatching them up and heading for the door. "I'll be back—it's, um, important. I'll be back," and as those words leave his mouth, he's leaving the house without looking back. 

Because Louis called. And that means he's ready to talk. And Harry has to do that in person.

———

He didn't give himself enough time to put on shoes. Louis' going to think he looks mad, with yesterday's clothes on, no proper jacket, and no shoes. All he has on is a long-sleeved shirt with his school's name on it (it's a few years old, actually), and his pajama bottoms that aren't thick enough to warm him from the harsh wind. The sickly feeling returns once he's at his doorstep, and although his door and house always appeared huge, it looks massive now. Intimidating, almost. 

And then the doubt settles in. What if Louis doesn't want to see him? What if he called to break up with him, because he knew Harry would be too pathetic in person? But he called. That means he's done thinking, right? That he's sorted all of his thoughts? 

He doesn't fucking know.

He wished he'd taken this time to sort his thoughts, too.

His feet feel like they're about to freeze off, but he can't make himself knock on the door. Instead, he takes involuntary steps back. Until he's standing on the last step—and then he sits down. The wooden stairs are cold underneath his pajama bottoms, which makes his ass feel like it's about to freeze off, but he can't just up and leave. He has to gather enough strength to face Louis. To fight with him. They aren't breaking up; he refuses to believe that. 

"Jesus, Harry, it's freezing out," Louis' soft voice calls out. He hears the door click shut, hears the squeak of the porch underneath Louis' weight as he walks over, and feels the warmth radiate from his body when he sits down beside him. 

Harry squeezes his eyes shut and wraps his arms tightly around himself. Was he just waiting for him to show up? "I was hoping you wouldn't come out," he mutters. And he's trying to ignore the urge to throw himself at Louis and suffocate him in tight, cozy hugs. 

"Oh," Louis quietly says, their shoulders barely grazing. "Were you just going to sit here all night?"

Harry, with his eyes still closed, only shrugs. "Probably."

There's a nudge against his shoulder. "Could you look at me?"

He breathes shakily through his nose and feels his chest ache, his throat tighten, and he knows it's coming soon. He won't be able to stop the tears once they start. "I'll cry if I do," he whispers out, forehead dropping down to rest on his pulled up knees. "I just wanted to talk to you without getting so emotional."

Louis' quiet at his side. For a moment he wonders if it's a ploy to get him to open his eyes and look over, but then a deep sigh sounds out. "There's nothing wrong with being emotional."

Tell that to my father, he mentally adds. 

But he then realizes he can't possibly talk to Louis like this. It's in one quick motion that he lifts his head, opens his eyes, and turns to look at him. And he feels the wetness gather, his throat tighten, and the feeling as if he will never be able to get any aspect of his life together returns. "You shut me out," he quietly says, mentally begging himself to not cry. No matter how pretty Louis looks—because he missed him. So fucking much.

Louis' face is open and readable—a lot more nicer than the look he'd received four days ago. Remorse is evident in his features, with the way his brows are drawn in, his red lips turned downward, and the look in his eye. He just knows. "I'm sorry," he sincerely says. His left hand instantly comes up to caress gently through his hair, then he tucks a strand behind his ear. "I just got nervous."

Harry feels his lower lip tremble. "I literally worried myself sick, Louis. Couldn't go to school today because I was so nauseous. I thought you hated me."

Surprise replaces the remorse look in the blink of an eye, and he feels his hand travel from his hair, to his lower back, digits circling the area soothingly. "Harry, absolutely not," he gently says. "I don't think it's possible for me to. You know that, right?"

Harry half-heartedly nods, but only because there's a part of him wondering how anyone could like him at all. Louis seems to sense this doubt, because the hand that was on his lower back is cupping his jaw in less than a second, it seems. And then his lips find Harry's. He can't help but grip at Louis' white shirt tightly, pulling him in close, as if he could vanish at any moment. Louis' mouth feels like home—Louis feels like home. He's not sure when that happened—when Louis became someone that made him feel so secure and free, but those very few days apart felt as though someone snuffed out all the light.

Kissing Louis was inviting the light back in. Even through chapped lips and clumsy hand movements, this was the peace he'd been craving for days now. He can't help but be addicted to Louis, and he can't help but to let the tears fall past his eyes and down his cheeks when his own thoughts make him overly emotional. There's a hesitance in Louis' actions, where his lips falter and almost stop altogether, and it's then he knows. Harry can taste the saltiness of his own tears, so he's sure Louis can too. It's only a matter of seconds when he's pulling away, unable to breathe due to his nose becoming runny. He sniffles and starts to wipe his eyes, body twisting away from Louis.

"Did I do something wrong?"

And, fuck, he sounds so sincere. So worried. He can't help but cry even harder. "Yes. And no. It's just—Louis, I'm scared." He places his face in his hands. "I'm scared of how much I like you."

Louis' hand is rubbing Harry's back again, nails occasionally making an appearance as they softly scratch, and then rub again. It's such a small touch, but it's one that helps calm him. Any physical touch from Louis could help calm him, honestly. 

"Can I tell you why I wanted to be alone for a few days?" Louis asks, his voice so calm and soft. Harry nods behind his hands. "Come here," he whispers out, hand trailing up to Harry's head as he guides it to his chest. 

Harry easily complies, finds warmth in his chest, but then he's able to stop his tears from rushing forward. Louis' got his hand in his hair and is rubbing gently at his scalp, then twisting curls between his fingers. Harry's hands instantly wrap around his waist, and he doesn't fucking care if Louis doesn't reciprocate his strong feelings. As long as he can have moments like this, where the weight of life and the sorrows it brings are gone once he's in Louis' arms, then he'll be okay. He can make it work.

"I had to stay away from you because you cloud over every thought I have. I needed to think it through, think about what it means now that Niall knows, and if he can be trusted. I knew you'd fight with me, and I knew I wouldn't be able to fight back. You don't realize the hold you have over me, Harry. I thought you did. I'm sorry you thought otherwise," he calmly says, hand still working through his hair. "You could get me to do anything if asked. Because, fuck, I'm—I'm—"

Harry looks up, slowly sitting up due to Louis' hands still in his hair, but his eyes are on his boyfriend. And this time, it's Louis' eyes that are welling up with tears. It's the most heartbreaking sight; his eyes turn red, blue eyes becoming the brightest they've been, and his face flushes from all color. 

A shaky breath is exhaled, and it clouds the space between them. "You mean everything to me," Louis says, words strong and firm as if he had to force it out that way. As if his voice could crack and he could melt into a teary mess in no time.

It's only the right thing to do at this point. Both of his cold hands cup Louis' jaw on either side of his face, and then he's kissing him. It's hard and desperate, their noses bumping, and their movements almost spastic in the cold. Louis' somehow warm hands shoot up the back of Harry's shirt, fingers digging into the skin by the center of his spine, and Louis knows what he's doing at this point. As his sharp nails pierce through taut skin, he can't help the low rumble that surges from the lowest part of his throat. Louis' tongue is in his mouth, and although the feeling before always made kissing him feel hotter and more electric, this time, it only added to the desperation. It's like simply kissing isn't enough. It's messy to the point of almost being gross, but Harry loves it, and loves the taste of Louis' tongue in his mouth.

He unintentionally shivers when Louis scrapes his nails up his back, and it actually takes his breath away. Stealing Louis' air for himself wasn't enough, and he starts to feel lightheaded. The last thing he wants to do is put a stop to this lovely kissing, but he has to. To be able to breathe. And when he pulls away, it's slow and he's gasping for air, and he has to wipe the makings of wet, sloppy kissing from his chin.

"Fuck, you're freezing," Louis breathily comments. "Let's go inside."

Harry nods, their foreheads touching, and then the both of them are standing up together. His feet are way past numb at this point, and by the time they touch the warmth from inside Louis' home, it almost hurts. 

"Can't believe you came over here with no shoes on. You're nuts," he laughs out, hand wrapped around Harry's waist. "Let's go upstairs," he says when Harry makes for the couch.

He freezes instantly and turns to Louis. "Upstairs?"

He only nods and drops his hand to lace their fingers together, tugging him toward the staircase. "Yeah. I've got my nice blankets there, and I bought myself a new record upon your recommendation."

Harry smiles widely and allows himself to be tugged by Louis, following after him up the stairs, and to his bedroom. He'd hardly been up here, and it's a lot more together looking than the last time he'd been in his room. It's still strikingly white, but one thing stands out: his bed. It's changed since he last saw it, and what replaced the simple bed frame, is a wooden four-poster bed, with clean-cut lines, which comes together to a square at the top. There's no cloth hanging from it like there should be, but it makes it look more expensive that way. The bedsheets are still white (like the walls. Honestly, some color would do him good), and thick pillows line across the head of the bed. It looks so goddamn comfortable.

"Well," Louis says, fingers dropping. "Go get warm."

He can't help but smile, and can't help but lunge over to the bed and fall onto it face first. It's wonderfully warm, but even more so once he rolls over and tucks himself underneath the sheets. He's got his back up against the pillows and is sitting up when he's finally adjusted himself, Louis' duvet brought up to his shoulders. His feet finally feel like they're defrosting.

"Louis," Harry's soft voice starts, reluctance evident in his tone. "Why did you go about it that way? I just—you say it's because I cloud your thoughts, but you could have told me." He looks down at the thick blanket currently warming him, finding it hard to look at Louis. "It wasn't my fault Niall found out."

And then it's eerily quiet. Harry can't will himself to look up and read his expression—doesn't want to be disappointed or hurt. He just wants to make sure nothing like this ever happens again. It's like the air is slowly getting snuffed out, and if he doesn't look up soon, then he'll surely pass out from the lack of oxygen. He doesn't understand why Louis' not responding, but can only assume he's preparing to fight again. That's surely what this is. Because why else would he—

A guitar sounds out. It pulls Harry's thoughts way immediately, and replaces it with perplexity. He knows the first strum of the chord, recognizes the beat, and once the electric guitar comes in, he can't help but look up. It's one of those songs that he can't help but dance to in his room, where he belts out the lyrics and always keeps them close to his heart. He knows it as the song about freedom, about growing and having to move on, though it's heartbreaking to do so. Free Bird by Lynyrd Skynyrd, and the record Louis has apparently bought.

"I'm sorry," he says over the music, where the intro to the song continues to play. "I was thinking about your safety above mine. If it would be better if we—if we—"

"If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me?" The record player softly plays out.

"Ended things," Louis finishes, his words harsh against the gentle melody playing throughout the room. It pangs at Harry's heart, but then he says: "But I realized that was too haste. Too much. And beyond heartbreaking. I couldn't imagine not being your boyfriend, Harry—"

"'Cause I'm as free as a bird now, and this bird you cannot change," the song continues. 

He slowly tugs the blankets away from his body and plants his feet to the ground; Louis stays completely still by the record player, even as Harry's making his way over. He looks so young like this, with his emotions on full display, and his heart out and Harry's for the taking. It's a kind of vulnerability that he just wants to wrap up and secure for himself, knowing he'd be the only one to keep it safe. Though the song is bittersweet in the way it's about leaving a great love to continue being free, Harry finds that the opposite for him. 

Harry's hands wrap around his neck to pull him into a tight hug, to which Louis' arms instantly form around his waist. It's tight and loving—intimate without being sensual—and so warming. It's like new feelings have washed over him, ones that he's discovered whilst being apart, but it's a type that he can't quite describe. He's always used the sun because of the warming sensations Louis fills him with, but this is something else entirely. It's more than the fire in his veins; more than static touches and all-consuming, overwhelming feelings. How could he possibly put this emotion into words?

It's almost natural that they start slowly swaying back and forth together, the music floating around them as if it was air, filling all their senses and thoughts. It's just them, with the song as a barrier for all unspoken words, and this tight embrace. Eventually the song picks up, transforms from the longing feeling into one of confidence and security in a decision.

"Lord knows, I can't change," it sings around them.

Louis' fingers pull from Harry's waist and to his shoulders, slowly sliding them down his arms and creating a bit of a distance, as he grabs his hands with a wide smile on his face. The guitar picks up, the drums speed, and soon, they're dancing hand-in-hand, flinging about with the heavy guitar solo. Harry's giggling and bouncing around with Louis, spinning in and out of his arms, and it's pure bliss. They're both laughing, pulling out whichever dance moves they could (they're terrible, terrible dancers, it seems), until the song eventually fades out, and then the record stops completely. They're huffing and sweaty and smiling like lovesick children, and Harry gasps when Louis pulls him close to his chest once more to dance softly like before. Only there's no music this time, only breathless noises and the thumping of heartbeats.

Harry can't help but sing softly: "I'm as free as a bird now, and this bird you cannot change."

Lord, help me, I can't change, he continues singing in his head.


	34. 33.

He felt a little too comfortable. Cozier than usual, and so much more content than most mornings. He can't believe he's woken up before his obnoxiously loud alarm clock sounds off, but alas, he has. A tired groan escapes his lips and he's bringing his hand up to rub at his eye, when he feels it beneath him. The firm body he's currently snuggled up to, with his head on their chest. Both of his eyes shoot open and he's gasping loudly, pressing against Louis' chest to sit up and fumble around the covers to make a clean escape. Instead, he's further tangling his legs into the sheets, and falling off the side of the bed with a loud thud. He swears underneath his breath and hops up with the blankets wrapped around his ankles.

Louis mutters something underneath his breath, pops an eye open, and then the other follows suit. An alarming look consumes his face and he sits up quickly. "Oh, shit, what time is it?" He looks at the clock on the nightstand as soon as those words leave his mouth, and somehow, his eyes widen even more. "Oh, shit, it's eight-thirty!"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Louis, I'm so fucked. Mum knows I'm here. Fuck! She's probably losing her mind! I have her bloody car!" He reaches down to rid himself of the blankets snaked around his feet, scrambling to find his shoes, only to realize he doesn't have any. He then looks down at his clothes. "I can't go to school like this! What the fuck happened?"

"We just fell asleep," Louis calmly says. He's out of the bed within seconds and disappearing into his closet, soon returning with clothes hanging from his arm. He lays it out on the bed and motions to it. "Is that okay? You should probably hurry. Call your Mum once you're at the school."

"What do I say?" he asks, panicked, and moving over to where the clothes are. He didn't think twice about it, really, when he took his shirt off and reached for the green, diagonally striped sweater Louis had gotten for him. 

"Uh, just say you're okay. You lost track of time and passed out on the couch. She'll probably be mad, but won't suspect anything. I can talk to her if it might help."

And, God, he's really missed Louis. He wants to lean over and kiss him, because he hasn't even taken in the sight before him. Louis' messy morning hair, his white shirt that's tugged to the side, exposing part of his left shoulder and collarbone. His eyes are puffy and his face a little pale (possibly from being scared awake), but he still looks beautiful nonetheless. Louis shifts on his feet somewhat, eyes reluctantly looking away from Harry, and he almost starts to pout, but then he remembers he's fucking shirtless and staring at his boyfriend without saying a word. He probably looks creepy. 

He quickly pulls the sweater over his head, then tugs his pajama bottoms down without another thought. It's not like he's naked, so he's not freaked by the idea of Louis watching him. He kicks the bottoms off his feet, then grabs the dark colored bluejeans to hop into. He's not graceful in the slightest, which is why he knows Louis' not drooling over him with his trousers off. Once the pants were tugged up, he fastens the button and zips them, and feels himself frown when he looks down. The jeans are rather...short on him. Not terribly so, but they're definitely above his ankles.

He opens his mouth to say something about it, but Louis stops him.

"Don't start," Louis says, his finger held up. He hands him a pair of brown boots and socks, to which Harry quickly grabs and sits at the edge of the bed to put them on. "I'm not sure of your shoe size."

"I'll have to deal with it," he grumbles to himself. Once the shoes are on, he stands with a frown. His toes are definitely touching the front of the boots. "Thank you, Lou," he says to him, despite the uncomfortable shoes. He smiles, leans over to kiss his cheek, and then is walking past him. He hears Louis follow close behind him, all the way to the front door. Harry opens it and turns once more, smiling softly. "Thanks for last night, too."

Louis' grinning, despite the time. Despite how much trouble Harry's going to be in. "I hope we're okay. I really am sorry, love. I just—I just freaked—"

Harry shushes him with a chaste kiss on the lips. "We talked it over," is all he says. It's why he'd fallen asleep in his bed. They'd both crawled into it and talked more about their relationship and all the risks, and Louis apologized over and over, until they both fell asleep. 

"Okay, off to it, then," he says with a wide smile. He kisses Harry this time—it's sweet and gentle, but rushed. 

Harry starts to back away, keys in hand, before he turns and hurries down the steps. "Bye!" he hollers over his shoulder.

"Good-bye, love you!"

He smiles and opens the car door, slides in, and starts it as quickly as he could. He's trying to go over how to explain his absence, but he knows no matter what he says, he'll be getting detention. That's annoying, as well. He's never been in detention—it's just not a thing someone like him ever had to go through. He may not have the best of grades, but he was always respectful and on time. 

Fake conversations play over in his head as he tried to prepare himself, but he doesn't think he can be. He'll just say he overslept and deal with the consequences. And he'll have to call his Mum as soon as possible to let her know he's okay, which only brings out a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The school parking lot was in vision in no time, and as he whips in rather quickly, parks, and switches off the car, he tries not to think about how he doesn't have his schoolwork with him. Or textbooks. There's another detention slip.

He huffs loudly and exits the vehicle, locking it with shaky fingers, and then rushing off to the front doors of the school.

But then he stops in his tracks. The door is right in front of him, but it's as if he's suddenly paralyzed. 

Good-bye, love you. 

What the fuck?

Did Louis just say he loved him?

———

He didn't mean it. It was just a thing of habit, something one says when their friend is leaving. Of course, they're obviously more than friends, but he must have let it slip on accident. Sadly he can't spend much time thinking about it, because his teacher is chewing him out for being so late. He'd missed his first class completely, and walked in mid-lesson to his second one. Once the bell sounded, he was asked to stay late to talk. 

"I just don't get it," Mrs. Lance says. Her collared button-up tucked into her high-waisted trousers, which were a plaid design, and it flattered her well. Mrs. Lance was neither too old or too young, just in between. Possibly in her thirties, or inching toward her forties. It's improper and impolite to ask, so he'd spent the better of his time guessing. "You've never been late before," she continues.

Harry shrugs and taps his fingers atop the desk he's sitting at. He's just anxious, with a lot on his mind, and a mother that's possibly spazzing about his whereabouts. 

Would Louis take what he said back? Surely not... Dammit. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't even know what love is! What it feels like! What it even looks like. It's not as if his parents led by example.

"Harry."

He snaps his eyes up and finds Mrs. Lance with her arms crossed. 

"Sorry, what were you saying?" he softly asks, frowning unintentionally.

She sighs deeply, frown lines appearing around her mouth and years of stress accentuating the wrinkles on her forehead. "You need to get it together. I'm not trying to sound harsh, Harry, but you're graduating soon. Your grades are important, and so is your attendance. I only want you to excel, Harry. Don't start slacking now."

His right hand lifts to rub over his face out of frustration. "It won't happen again. I didn't mean to, I just overslept." He drops his hand and looks into Mrs. Lance's eyes, hoping she'd believe him. "Honest."

Her eyes search his, the stern look never leaving her face, but as the seconds tick by, her facade breaks down into a more trusting look. She finally nods and waves her hand. "Fine, fine. Just go, don't be late to your next class."

He nods and stands, thanking her with a smile, before he's leaving the room and finding a telephone before his next class starts. It's a conversation he's not ready to have yet, but it's better to get it over with now.

———

His Mum wasn't exactly pleased by the events that had taken place. She said she'd called Louis' early in the morning (before they had woken up), and was about to call the police if he hadn't called soon. He claimed she was being a tad dramatic, but still apologized for accidentally falling asleep. His excuse was that Louis had a very limited edition record he had to see for himself, and after the built-up excitement died down, it was so late that he just passed out on the sofa. She, of course, questioned why Louis didn't call or wake him, which had him fumbling around for a reply. "He's too nice to wake me, Mum," he'd said. "And it probably slipped his mind to not ring you." 

She went on to say that she's happy he's not dead, but that a long talk would ensue as soon as he got home. She also said he's lucky it was her off day, otherwise she would have trudged to work in the cold. It didn't make him feel any better after hearing that, but he knew it wouldn't have gone any other way. 

The rest of the day was rather slow. He had a lot on his mind, and miraculously, Mrs. Lance convinced Headmaster Donnery to not give him detention, but to let him work in her class later one day. He was glad for it, since it wouldn't go on his record. Anything helped at this point.

As soon as he got home from school, he was met with a disappointed mother on the couch with her arms crossed. He'd wondered how long she was sitting there like that.

"Sit, Harry," she sternly says.

He gulps, drops his bag off his shoulder, and carefully moves to sit on the opposite end of the couch from her. With her eyes following his every move, he can't help but uncomfortably look down at his pants.

"What on earth are you wearing?" 

"Um, well. I'd fallen asleep in my lounge clothes, you know. Um. Louis offered me his for school and such," he softly explains, still looking down.

"It looks like you outgrew it three years ago," she giggles out. The noise made him look up at her; he only shrugs. "Harry, just tell me what's going on with you. You've been a mystery this past week, and I can't help but wonder if it's—" She cuts herself off with a sigh, as if she didn't want to talk about it. "Are you on drugs?"

"Oh, my God," he groans out with a roll of his eyes. "Mum, of course not! Why would you think that? Why do you always think that?"

"Because you've not been yourself, Harry!" Her voice is on edge, annoyance evident in her tone. "I don't know what's going on with you. Or Gemma. I feel like you both aren't letting me in on a secret!"

He looks away at that. His heartbeat quickens at the mention of a secret, but it's not like he can confess anything. It would mess everything up, and she'd probably force them to stay apart. He can't expect a good reaction when it comes to something like this, so he can't say a word of it. Although he wishes to announce it to everyone that Louis Tomlinson's his boyfriend, and that he's certain he feels that thing that's hard to label, but too much is on the line. 

"I'm—I'm not," he stutters out softly—sadly. His eyes stay down. "If there was something bad going on, you'd know. You know me, Mum. You can trust me. I'm sorry for falling asleep at Louis'—it won't happen again." He rubs his nose, unknowingly so, but stops when he realizes what he's doing. "I'm just figuring life out. Where to go to university, what I want to do with my life... It's hard."

"I know it is," says Anne. "I can help you, Harry, you've just got to tell me. You're my baby. I'm just looking out for you."

A groan instantly escapes his mouth when his Mum scooted over on the couch to take his head in her hands and kiss the top of it. He can't help but laugh, his cheeks heating up with embarrassment as he shakes his head away from her hands. 

"Mum, please. I'm nearly nineteen," he huffs out as he brushes through his hair with his fingers.

"Don't remind me! And in just a few, short weeks!"

"All right, all right!" he loudly voices, attempting to retreat away from her sentimental words and touches. "I'm going to go study in my room and think over which university would be so honored as to accept me." He starts to stand, but pauses to stretch before he's making his way to the stairs.

"That's my boy," she giggles out. "Oh, but you're grounded for a week, darling. Cheers!"

He freezes in his tracks immediately. This can't be. He's never been grounded before—Gemma's the only one that's suffered through that fate. He frowns at himself once that thought appears, and can't help but realize that maybe he is Mum's favorite. 

"A week?" 

She simply nods. "I know it was just a mistake, but it can't happen again. So, yes, a week. Only go out to school and come back. No calls."

"Mum—!"

"Don't argue, Harry! Maybe take this time to catch up on your studies. You'll have to tell Zayn no lessons this week."

He wants to complain, maybe try to lessen his sentence, but it seems like there's no way around it. He huffs loudly and turns at once to head upstairs, where he'll be living for the remainder of the week, it looks like. It's unfair! He's an adult! He shouldn't have to be going through this childish grounding.

"Am I becoming Mum's favorite?" Gemma asks once he reaches the top of the stairs. She was apparently eavesdropping.

"Shut up," he says through his annoyance. "It's not right. I'm basically nineteen, Gem."

"Oh, boo-hoo. I've had far worse punishments for simpler things!"

"Yeah, but this couldn't have come at a worse time!" A loud huff pushes past his lips and he brushes past her to get to his room, hand on the knob. "Louis accidentally told me he loved me and I can't go see him to ask about it."

"Oh, fuck," she deadpans.

"Yeah." He can't help but hit his forehead against his closed door. "Fuck."

———

He hasn't had to work at the bakery as much due to the exams he's studying for. He can't risk slacking off now, not when it's his last semester before university. But, annoyingly so, his Mum said she'd put him to work since he has nothing better to do. Said he could study there. And it's not like they're insanely busy in the afternoons after school (in other words, he'll still be able to study), it's just beyond frustrating that he can't see his mates after classes. 

Poor Niall didn't understand what he was trying to tell him with his eyes. Liam had lunch with them today, which resulted in him not having a moment with Niall to ask for help. He was hoping the look in his eye would say, "meet with me alone," but he never caught on.

"Got a stomach ache, Harry?" he'd asked instead.

It was just hopeless. 

It didn't help he was tasked with the essay of a lifetime. His final project in his English class—writing about what he's learned in his school years, and his plans for the future. It was ridiculous, and it's only going to give him the freak-out of the year. He can't imagine even starting it, let alone having Mrs. Lance breathing down his neck about it when he has to stay late in her class. 

He almost has the urge to grab the telephone in the bakery and dial Louis when no one's around, but he doesn't know how to start that conversation. 

"Can't pick up when I ring, ya bastard?"

Harry sighs. Out of thankfulness, really. "Niall!" he happily says, looking up from his notepad with nothing written on it. "I'm fucking grounded, you genius."

His mouth parts, a low "oh," tumbling past his lips, but then he furrows his brows and cocks his head to the side. "Why are you grounded?"

"I accidentally stayed over at Louis'," he explains. He scratches at his scalp and then tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. "I need you to go—"

"You guys fucked." 

"Niall!"

"Was it—did it hurt? I mean, I'm sure you're the one, you know, getting it put inside you—"

"NIALL!" he shouts out, eyes blown wide as he watched Niall press his mouth tightly closed. "Please, don't ever talk to me about anything being shoved...places...ever again. Ever. And, for your information, no! That didn't happen! We had a lovely, romantic evening, and innocently fell asleep together. God."

"Oh," Niall mumbles. Then he crosses his arms and rests his weight on his right foot, hip jutting out. "You've done that before at mine, so why were you grounded this time?"

Harry shakes his head and inhales deeply. "I don't know. But I need you to tell Louis what's going on, because I can't tell him myself. Please, Niall."

His eyes trace over Harry's face slowly, a reluctant look encapsulating his face, before he's huffing deeply and rolling his eyes. "Fine, H, fine. I'll do your dirty work."

"And, Niall," Harry starts off nervously. "The last thing Louis said to me was that he loved me. Um, I didn't even realize it until I left, so. Uh. Just...tell me how he responds."

"Fuckin' hell, Harry, when you get yourself in situations, you're in them."

Harry scoffs. "Tell me about it."

"Want me to tell him you love him back?" Niall asks as he wanders over to the pastry case. He inspects what's left in it before his eyes lift up to Harry's. "You do love him, right?"

Harry groans and stands from the uncomfortable stool he was sitting on to try and make himself busy by taking the older pastries out of the display case. "That's personal, Niall, I—"

"Jesus, Harry. I guess you've gotta figure that out on your own, even if it is obvious to—" he stops himself and blinks his face away from Harry's direct eye line. "We can drop it. Um, anyway, Mum wants a fresh loaf and some chocolate drops."

He nods and begins preparation for those items, all while his thoughts start eating him alive. All filled about Louis, as usual, and what happens next. Can't they ever just have a moment that won't lead him to a major freak-out? That's all he wants! At this point, he's just begging for some normalcy in his complicated life. 

It's just...that's huge. To say those words. To say those words, and then what's next? Will everything just fall apart? Will it last after those words are out there? 

"Here you go," he says to Niall, after bagging everything up, and telling him the price. He hands over the money and walks away backwards, eyes on Harry, and as he reaches the door, he stops. "Do whatever you want, man, but Louis' a good guy. Just, uh—I don't know. I'll see you 'round." He opens the door and a smile spreads on his mouth. "Never mind. 'Cause you're grounded," he says with a laugh.

"Bye, Niall!" he shouts, waving as he left. The humor leaves the room when the door closes shut, and all he's left with is the big, looming question he's been stuck with since yesterday.

Does he love Louis Tomlinson?

He huffs.

Of-fucking-course he does. 

He loves Louis Tomlinson with every ounce of his being; as long as the oceans contain water and as long as the sun burns hot, he'll love Louis with everything within him.

It's just what comes after that terrifies him.


	35. 34.

Harry can't describe the torture of not being able to tell someone you love them back. The torture of the first time being told someone loved him (in that way), was a slip-up. But, to be completely fucking honest, he doesn't care. Because he's so in love that it's consuming him. When he's at school, it's all he thinks about. When he's at home trying to plan his future, it's what he's thinking about. He wants his future to be Louis, no matter where that may be, but he needs to tell him first.

And he can't.

Niall had found him at school and told him how Louis reacted to his grounding, and surprisingly said he laughed about it. 

"He just wouldn't stop laughing," he'd said. "And I said it was unfair since your birthday was so close, then he stopped." 

It completely slipped his mind to tell Louis about his birthday. He doesn't do much on his birthdays—usually just hangs out with Liam and Niall, but he has a boyfriend to add into these scenarios. A secret one, at that. Maybe he'll invite him over for dinner since Anne adores him. That might work out.

All in all, he was glad that Louis didn't seem off when Niall was retelling these scenarios. He didn't want to leave Louis hanging after his slip-up, but couldn't do anything about it. Can't do anything when he's holed up in his room—he just wants to tell him how he feels at this point. It's starting to wear him down.

On a better note—a happier one, more like—he thinks he's found a university worth being interested in. It's not too far from home, but far enough where he thinks he could have the life he's always wanted. If only Gemma was interested in it; she'd shaken off any topic of university, and said her prospects of success would only be found in Charlesden—whatever that means. Harry doesn't think anything can be made in a place that refuses to grow. Unless it's something everyone will like. But maybe he just knows no one would like him if they knew who he really was.

Clink. 

He shifts on his bed, where he's lazily trying to study, and looks out the window to where the noise had come from. It's dark out, but he can see the droplets of rain cascading down the window. It must have been the cause of the noise. He returns to his textbook, absentmindedly taps his pencil against the page, and exhales deeply.

Clink, clink. 

His brows draw in curiously, head turning back to the window, and his eyes squinting to study the droplets rushing down. It doesn't make sense to him that the rain's making a noise as though something's lightly tapping against his window. So, with a great huff to muster up his energy, he shoves his things to the side to stand and walk over to the mysterious noise. The street light make the raindrops against the window almost shimmer, and as he unlocks it and slides it up, they shake and rush down to wet his hand.

"Harry," a hushed voice carries out.

He immediately sticks his head out the window. Rain trickles down his hair, but it mainly stays as light sprinkles, unlike it was only mere minutes ago. 

And in the dark, standing in the rain, is a very stupid Louis Tomlinson staring up at him with a wide smile on his face. The street light offers enough to see that he's completely drenched, and even though it's cold and terrible out, he's still there with that bright, soul-warming smile. It's then it really settles it for Harry. It solidifies every thought on the matter, any doubt he had about not knowing how to feel, and every fear about the unknown. He simply doesn't care; he's in love with Louis. He's in love with the way his smile lights up the dark in a downpour; he's in love with the way he's never been happier in life. He has a place with Louis, somewhere he's always safe, and he's so fucking thankful he walked into the bakery that day and ended up in this small town.

"Louis," he finally says through his shock. Joy flutters around his heart and swoops into the depths of his stomach, only to fill his entire body up with it. "What are you doing?" he giggles.

"Just out for a stroll on this lovely evening," Louis says. The rain picks up and he laughs loudly, throwing his arms up. "I've come to see you, obviously!"

It's a much easier decision than it was last time, when it was Niall and Liam begging him to climb out and hop down. Not that Louis expected him to, but he's doing it anyway. Only this time, the task felt a little bit more difficult. The lower leveled roof was a lot more slippery with the rainfall continuing to get heavier as the moments ticked by. He wished he'd put on snow boots over his simple trainers, now that he thinks about it, and now that he's reached the edge.

"Harry," he says over the rain. "Love, be careful! I didn't want you climbing out your window!"

Harry laughs, his eyes not chancing to look at Louis out of fear of taking the wrong step and falling to his demise. It would be a terrible way to go, especially since he hasn't told Louis that he's madly in love with him.

"I've done it before," is all he says.

"Oh-hoh. Rebel."

"Sh," he says, smiling widely. His squinty eyes from all the smiling made it hard for him to see on top of the weather. He inches closer to the edge, as far as he could comfortably be, before he's crouching down and placing his hands on the vinyl material of the roof. He inhales deeply, pushes off, and collides into the ground with weak knees and a sharp pang from his ankle. "Ow."

"Harry Edward Styles," Louis gasps, his hands coming underneath Harry's arms to slowly ease him up. "You're mad!"

Harry can't help but laugh, wince, use Louis' steadiness to help himself balance, and then just grin. "You are too, coming here in the rain like this. You're bound to catch a cold."

"Yeah, well. I had to see you." His voice is slightly raised over the harsh rain, which has picked up so much that they're both fully soaked now. "I can't believe you're grounded!"

"Not funny!" Harry replies, voice equally as raised. He glances behind himself to make sure his Mum wasn't wandering around by any chance, and she wasn't. He turns back and laughs at the way Louis' hair is soaked and flat on his head. 

So, that's what he must look like coming out of the shower. Still annoyingly perfect.

"Harry, I need to tell you something," Louis says, the rain coating his lashes and cascading down his cheeks. "What happened when you left the other day—"

"Don't take it back," Harry interrupts, his heart thudding, his breathing turning into short gasps. He's glad the loud rain drowns it out. "Please don't."

Louis' eyes rake over the entirety of Harry's face, his features unreadable as he draws his brows together. He then raises his hand to push away any hair that had fallen into Harry's face, before his wet hand cups his jaw delicately. "That's the last thing I want to do."

Somehow the rain isn't so loud anymore.

It's still pouring, but it's almost as if it goes completely silent, and Harry can hear the soft breathing coming from Louis, hear the shakiness that accompanies it, and he doesn't have to yell over it anymore. They're wrapped in their own world now, where nothing—not even thunderous storms—can penetrate.

"I didn't want you to think I was freaking out," Harry softly says, his voice as delicate as the touches he's receiving. His hands come up to Louis' chest, fingers digging into his white—and quite frankly—poorly planned shirt. 

"No, Niall made it clear your weren't," he sighs out. Almost as if he was relieved, for whatever reason that may be. 

He tilts his head closer to Harry's, foreheads almost touching, but then he juts his chin forward. Harry nearly leans in to kiss him, but before he can do so, Louis' nose is rubbing against his own. He can't help but smile.

"What did Niall say?" Harry curiously asks, mouth chasing Louis', but he pulls away with a sneaky smile.

"Can we not talk about Niall right now?"

Harry eagerly nods. "I have something to tell you. And I don't know how to say it without—without, like, being me. You know? Just—I want to say it perfectly. Like, uh, like... Um..."

"You're such a dork," Louis mumbles.

Harry almost starts to argue with him, can't get a word out before Louis' mouth is on his in a dramatic force that nearly knocks him off his feet. This is what's easy. This, something that doesn't need words, is what he can use—and it's something he's done before. Finding comfort in the intimate action of kissing is one thing he'll never get tired of—not when it comes to Louis. His lips are always silky soft, mouth as minty fresh as ever, and touches so bloody freeing. He knows Louis loves him with the way his fingers dance into his hair, clinging and grasping because he can't seem to get enough. 

Until he has to pull away. The words are at the tip of his tongue—he needs to tell Louis, otherwise he might end up yelling it to him.

The rain bursts their bubble. It somehow gets heavier and louder, and what he thought was phased out, came back howling. He shivers, blinks through the rain that rushes down his face, and can't help but laugh. Louis smiles at him, looks up at the downpour, before settling his gaze back on Harry.

"I'm so in love with you," he blurts out, as if it was a casual thing to normally say to a person. It came much more naturally than he thought it would.

Louis' smile widens; it lights up his face and eyes, and the fingers that were tangled in his hair, press into the skin at the back of his neck.

"Why don't you kiss me like you do?"

He plants his mouth against Louis' within seconds after those words spilled, his arms wrapping tightly around his back to close any distance between them. His lips sucked and his tongue tasted all that Louis had to offer, trying to show any sign of vulnerability and desire and desperation he could muster. There was only so much kissing he could do to prove his words, though, and so much he'd yet to accomplish. But in the downpour, in the rain dripping between them and coating their lips, he realized now wasn't the best time to try and suck a hickey onto his neck. As tempting as it may be, even with his skin glistening as it's wet, he forces himself not to. It's for another time; though, he can't deny, he's been waiting to find that tender spot on Louis for ages now.

Louis' hands move back to cup both of his cheeks, lips sadly pulling apart, but their faces still remained close. "Harry Styles, you are everything good. Kissing you is like seeing galaxies that have not yet been discovered."

Harry giggled. What else was he supposed to do? Their noses were nearly touching. "Poet," he says underneath his heavy breathing.

"Shut up. I'm confessing my undying love for you," Louis laughs out, thumbs wiping away any raindrops that coated Harry's cheeks. 

"Should we say good-bye? Since that came so easy to you last time?" he cheekily says, mouth smiling so widely that his dimples hurt. He's trying to ignore the way his body feels, as if it could just fly away into bliss upon hearing the words that will soon come from Louis' mouth.

"Will you just let me say how irrevocably, and all-consumingly in love I am with you? Without an interruption?" Louis tugs his face forward to kiss him slowly, mouths stuck together in a kiss that belonged on a movie screen. Then he pulls away. "I can't name the moment I first knew, because I think my love for you was always there. Now I'm just spending every moment falling more in love with you."

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck? 

How did he get so lucky? 

How does he respond to that?

"Louis, I—"

"I think your—your Mum—"

Harry turns instantly. Through the rain he sees his mother walking by the back window, and in that moment he grabs Louis' forearm and tugs him to the back walk of the house, away from the window, and away from his Mum. He rests his back against the brick and inhales deeply, wiping the rain from his face, which doesn't help much.

"You're gorgeous," Louis mutters, as if he was saying it to himself. He plants his hand on Harry's chest and one on his hip, with wandering fingers that thump against his hip bone, and tap their way to the center of his lower stomach through his shirt. 

"I'm a wet mess," he quietly says back, blinking quickly. It's a lot to take in Louis' words when he's got his hands all over him. 

The corner of Louis' mouth quirks up, his wandering fingers sneaking inside his shirt to dig his nails into Harry's waist. It's a piercing feeling that has him laying his head back against the brick wall, the sharpness fogging over his thoughts and eyes. The rain pounding onto his face only slightly helps with clearing it.

"Not entirely," Louis says, his voice oddly low. "Not yet."

"Louis," he voices shakily. He shivers and can't tell if it's from the cold or from Louis' hands. "I—it's—"

"Cold, I know," he sighs out sadly, his hands retreating. He steps back slightly and shakes his head so that his wet hair swoops to the side, away from his eyes. "When can I next see you?"

Harry smiles and lifts his head away from the brick, eyes trailing down to the front of Louis' shirt and how he can clearly see the outline of his upper body through it. "Uh. Um, well, my birthday. Niall, Liam, and Gemma are taking me out after dinner with my Mum. Would you—would you want to come to dinner? And then to the—the party?"

Louis doesn't say anything, just lifts his hand to cup his jaw again, his thumb running over his lower lip.

"Or—or just to the, uh, party after. It's whatever. I'm okay with whatever you want to do."

"It's your birthday, Harry, I'll do whatever you want me to."

"Oh," he breathlessly says. "Okay, yeah, um. Dinner. With all of us, and then the party. Yeah. Next Saturday, okay? But I'm free, like, Monday. That's when I get my freedom back."

"Right," Louis says with a smug smile, his thumb tugging down Harry's lower lip until his lips fully parted. He then leans close to ghost his lips over Harry's, their mouths faintly grazing. It's a painful tease. "I'll see you Monday, then. But I really need to go. I have a feeling bad weather's on its way."

Harry snorts. It's not cute, especially since it's against Louis' lips. But he kisses him nonetheless, which cuts off his laughter.

"Okay," says Louis as he's pulling away. "I really should go." 

Harry can't help but pout as he grabs Louis' hand, their fingers threading together momentarily, and he tugs Louis back to him. Their mouths instantly find one another's in a chaste, sloppy, wet kiss.

"Love you," Harry grins. "Bye."

Louis groans and steps away, his hand over his heart as he starts to walk backwards away from Harry. "Damn. Make my heart flutter, why don't ya?" Harry giggles with a roll of his eyes. "Love you, baby."

———

It's the day before his birthday. 

And he's a little overjoyed.

He's also in, like, a love bubble. Louis' perfect, his life is perfect (he knows it's not, but right now it is), and everything is just... perfect. 

Dinner tonight will also be perfect, and so will the party after. It's going to be a good day.

"My birthday baby!" His mother calls out once he's downstairs. He's attacked by small hands that cup his face, and lips repeatedly kissing his forehead.

He groans. "Mum." 

"You'll have to let him grow up someday, Mum," Gemma says from behind him. He feels a hand in his hair not a second later that ruffles through it. 

"All right, you two!" he declares loudly, side-stepping away from his mother, and off the steps from his sister. "Louis, Liam, and Niall will be here soon. Can't have you lot messing my hair up and smearing lippy across my forehead!"

"And, technically, you're nineteen at midnight," Gemma mumbles. 

"Haaarry!" a sudden Irish voice drawled out.

He turns around to see Niall, Liam, and Louis all standing at an opened front door. The two barrel in, leaving Louis at the doorframe, to tackle Harry in bear hugs and side-punches that had him curling in on himself. 

"Did you all ride together?" he breathlessly asks through his laughs. He shoves them away to search for Louis, who's still leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, and an admirable smile on his lips.

"Just so happened to arrive at the same time," Liam says. He elbows Harry's side, then finds his Mum. They both side hug. "Mrs—Ms. Anne," Liam fumbles out. "Are we having our favorite?"

Anne laughs and gives Liam a friendly kiss on the cheek. "Harry's favorite, yes. Sunday's roast on a Saturday evening." She turns to Niall, motions for him to come closer, and he does so with flushed cheeks. She kisses one and gives him a pat on the shoulder. "Doing all right, love? How's Lily?"

Harry's eyes travel back to Louis, who's still standing and posing like a model. He tries to force a smile away to no avail. 

"Louis, come in, come in!" Anne calls out to him. He finally shuffles in and shuts the door behind him, and widens his eyes once Anne kisses his cheek. He smiles seconds later and brings his hand up to rest on her elbow. "How are you, dear?"

"I'm wonderful, thank you. And yourself?"

They both usher into the heart of the home, where everyone creates small talk, as if they're one, big family. It fills Harry with joy to see it, and to not have to deal with his father on his birthday dinner. Instead, he had to last night. But at least that was isolated away from his friends. It's usually the part of the tradition he hates—his father was always a killjoy on these nights. Tonight is going to be different. It's in the way Niall and Gemma are talking and laughing, and how Anne, Louis, and Liam are engaged in a conversation about how processing film works. It's just really nice to see.

It's how most of the evening is, even as dinner is rolled out. Even when Louis takes a seat beside Harry. His Mum sits at the end of the table to his left, Niall and Gemma across, and Liam at the other end, to his right. It's funny how it happened that way; everyone sort of knew that's how the seating would end up, and basically left the seat available to Louis. 

And Louis was his respectful self the entire evening. No teasing or touching, apart from the brush of his shoe against Harry'a ankle here and there. He was a completely tamed boy, with his manners in check. He got along with his friends (he usually does, but Harry just loves to see them all eager to talk), spoke highly about dinner and his Mum's cooking, and was just a gentleman. That's the only word to describe him.

When dinner was over, and when Niall had everyone laughing so much their stomachs began hurting, is when the cake came out. With exactly nineteen candles on top, the lemon sponge cake looked as tasty as ever. It's been one of Harry's favorites since he was a boy, and that never changed over time. Especially if it was his Mum making it. 

"Presents!" Anne exclaimed, after trying to force the cake into their already-full bellies. 

Harry looked up at the clock on the wall to make sure it wasn't running too late; it was only eight-thirty. Then he felt a shoe knock against his ankle again, which had him turning his head with a smile. Louis was already staring at him, with his elbow on the table, and his chin in the palm of his hand. 

"Roast with Yorkshire pudding, with roasted potatoes, peas, and carrots. Then, a lemon Victoria sponge cake," Louis quietly says. The others were chatting amongst themselves, so Harry doubted they were listening. "That's your favorite," he finally adds.

Harry nods. "I'm a simple guy with simple taste."

"Your simple taste is every grandad's in all of England," he says with a light chuckle.

"All right!" Anne hollers as she walks back into the kitchen, with a surplus amount of gifts in her arms. Harry pushed back his empty plate right before she started piling the presents in front of him. "Someone's loved," she sighs out sentimentally.

"Um," Harry starts, intimidated by the eyes on him and the stack of presents. "Why did you—you guys shouldn't have—"

"Top one's mine! Open it first," Niall says.

He reaches for it slowly. It's a strange rectangular shape, but with some heft, so he's not sure what he's getting himself into as he's opening. Once the paper's torn off, though, he can't help but laugh.

"Ayyy!" Niall drawls out, throwing some finger guns in his direction. "They said it was a collectors item!"

He can't help but laugh harder. They all did love the show Happy Days, so it was only fitting for him to receive a lunchbox with the Fonz on it. Niall wasn't the best at gift-giving, which only made things even better.

"Thank you, Niall," he says with shortened giggles. 

He continued opening his gifts in no particular order. Gemma and his Mum went in on a gift together, which just so happened to be a silver wristwatch. It looked elegant and so lovely that he immediately put it on. Liam got him the newest Bob Dylan record—it was always a safe bet, that one, considering he's thankful for any kind of music he receives. But for it to be new made it a little more special. 

And Louis' somehow ended up last. It was a small box, wrapped imperfectly and messily, which had Louis spouting off excuses. No one cares about the wrapping, he'd said. Harry only smiled and tore it open to reveal a white, squared box. With his brow quirked, he lifted the lid, and blinked down at the gift inside. 

"Oh, wow," he mutters softly. He then lifted it out by the chain to reveal it to everyone else, which had them all mirroring his shocked words. It was absolutely lovely. The necklace, which was silver and expensive looking, was in the shape of a guitar pick. So simple, yet so lovely. He's never really received nice jewelry before, but this looked wonderful. It was perfect, without being too much. "Louis, thank you," he quietly says, looking over at him with a sincere smile.

"Damn, wish you were my—" Gemma stops herself, coughs, and laughs. "Friend! Wish you were my friend!"

Louis plays it off with a laugh, takes the necklace from Harry when he hands it over, and helps with putting it on. "We're friends, Gemma," he casually says. "I'll get you whatever you'd like on your next birthday."

Gemma smiles with her brows raised. "Well, all right," she happily says.

"Oh, I need a photo of this. Everyone, gather 'round in the living room!" Anne announces. 

Harry's quick to organize everything on the table before standing, his fingers on his new pendant, and a shy smile on his mouth. He and his friends huddle into the living room and line up in front of the couch in random order, but Louis stays at his side, their shoulders touching. They take a group photo every year, but he has a feeling he might want a copy of this one. For safe keeping.

"Mum," Harry starts, his eyes narrowing after the picture was taken. "Are you crying?"

She lowers the camera and waves the air, only to bring the hand to her face to shield it away from them. "No!" She sniffles, puts the camera down on the coffee table, and then motions for Harry to come over to her. He does with reddened cheeks, her arms coming around him as she cradled his head. "I'm just proud, is all. You've surrounded yourself with people that love you. That's all a mother wants—to know their child is safe and loved."

Harry exhales softly and hugs her back, but she lets go only moments later and gestures to the door.

"Off you go! Enjoy your party with your friends."

Harry smiles and kisses her cheek quickly before joining his friends. They gather their things with haste before walking out the door together, and yeah, this has already been the best birthday.

———

It wasn't really much of a party as it was a nightclub. Different than the one they visited on Gemma's birthday, but busy enough to get lost in. Gemma had handled it all, reserved a seating section just for them, and when he arrived, he was surprised with everyone else that loved a good party. Zayn, Matty, Barry, Lily, and Olivia. Gemma said Jenny was on the way, but with a date that was running late. Harry had gaped at that excitedly, asked who she was with, but Gemma just said it was a secret. Whatever that meant.

He couldn't help but watch the surprised look on Liam's face once he saw Zayn sitting on the couch with a drink in his hand; it was a short-lived look, because Olivia was running over to him as soon as he got there to lovingly kiss his cheeks. 

"Ooh," Louis quietly says by Harry's side. "That's different."

Harry turns to him and accepts the drink Louis had fetched him: a cherry vodka sour. He takes a sip, then purses his lips at the tartness, mixed with the strong and ever-present vodka infused with it. It's good, like a candy drenched in alcohol. It takes him a moment to register Louis' words, to see where he's looking, so he follows his gaze and it ends up on Liam and Olivia.

"I thought he had a thing for Zayn," Louis plainly says with a shrug. He takes a sip from his pint. "Is yours good?"

Harry nods, turns back to Louis, and laughs. "Does everyone know but Liam?" he questions lightly, sipping from his soured drink.

Louis' brows raise, and then his eyes run down the length of Harry's body. "It's always like that, babe."

Harry feels tingly. Surely it can't be from the drink, since he's only had a few sips. He is wearing high-waisted, dark blue flared trousers, with a white button-down (that's really buttoned down) tucked into it, and it's sort of see-through. It might be why he's checking him out. Louis, on the other hand, went rather casual with his dark jeans and white shirt. It's a styles he always looks fantastic in.

"Always?" Harry asks.

Louis smiles, puts his hand on his shoulder, and steps behind Harry to whisper in his ear. "Always. I'm gonna sit with Zayn now. Go dance like a fool on your birthday."

Harry tries to keep his smile from spreading, even as the tingles run down his back from the way his breath fanned over his ear. Louis joins Zayn, but for Harry to join his mates on the dance floor, he'll need to down his drink. And maybe another. 

He wishes Louis could join him, but he knows the risks. He also knows Liam's here, and everyone else that doesn't know they're together, and it's just not a good idea. He supposes it's enough to just have Louis come along and fetch him drinks when he needs one. It brings a smile to his face; it's a funny thought, the more he thinks about. His boyfriend's rather rich, and it's not like they can do much else when they're in public like this. 

It's crowded no matter where he turns, so he tries to make for the bar, where he can at least get another drink and prepare himself for the embarrassment dancing will bring. He notices a familiar head of brown hair, and a blue, posh cardigan that could only belong to Niall, so that's where he goes to stand. 

"Hey," Harry says to him over the thumping music. Niall turns and smiles widely, his hands thrown up, and the shot glass in his hand splashing liquid everywhere. "Where's Lily?"

"Dancing with Olivia!" he shouts back, downing the shot quickly with a shake of his head. He leans over the bar and throws two fingers up, motions to the both of them, and then the bartender issues them both a round of shots. "They're, like, best friends or whatever."

"Aw, left you hanging!" Harry shouts to him. He grabs the shot glass and throws it back with a nod of his head. He feels himself shake all over from the surprise of the burn he wasn't quite ready for, and the stout lemon aftertaste. 

"And where's your other half?" Niall questions. He taps the counter and two more shot glasses are handed over.

"Are you magic or something?" Harry laughs out. They both pick up the glasses, clink them together, and then toss them back. "Ugh," he groans out with a frown. "Um, Louis' with Zayn. We can't exactly... You know. Not in public."

Niall nods slowly and turns with his back and elbow resting on the counter, his eyes scouring the dance floor. Probably trying to find Lily. "That sucks balls. But I guess you'd know better than anyone else," he laughs. 

Harry rolls his eyes. "Sod off! I'm going to find Liam!" He pushes away from the counter, but Niall catches his arm.

"I wouldn't!" he loudly voices, eventually releasing his arm. "He and Olivia were in another spat."

"Well, who am I supposed to dance with?" He whines.

"Me, you ass!" 

He turns his head to his right to see Jenny, in all her stylish and beautiful glory. Her hair bounced around her as she ran over with a wide smile on her lips, and white boots that went up to her knees. Her dress was small and reached the middle of her thighs, but had long sleeves that dangled past her wrists. Cleo, on the other hand, had her red hair straightened, spotted high-waisted blue-jeans that flared at the bottoms, and a matching blue-jean top that came up above her belly-button. Harry blinked in shock, considering she was supposedly arriving with her date, but was nearly knocked off his feet once Jenny attacked him with a hug.

"Jen!" he happily exclaimed, arms wrapping tightly around her.

"Happy birthday, Harry!" She pulls away and adjusts her dress, looking back and motioning for Cleo to come over with a wave of her hand. She timidly does so, and looks shocked when Jenny throws her arm around her shoulder and sweetly kisses her on the mouth.

"No fucking way," he mutters, eyes wide, and an equally wide smile on his mouth. "You should have told me!"

Jenny laughs and pulls away, but her arm remains around Cleo, who is tomato red. "I couldn't tell you when I didn't know myself," she says over the music.

"I'll get us some drinks," Cleo says to her. 

Jenny nods with a smile and moves to step beside Harry. "Guess I was using you as a fake boyfriend more for myself than I thought."

Harry can't help it. He throws his arms around her and hugs her tightly once more, the smile never leaving his face. He didn't mean to look so surprised, but he had no idea she had a thing for Cleo. She was always awfully quiet—and, if anything, her and Lea seemed like the closest of the two.

"Does everyone know?" he asks when he pulls away. Cleo returns with two tall glasses of orange looking beverages.

"Yeah, basically. Life's too short, you know?" Her smile widened when she looked at Cleo, who still appeared flustered, but smitten. They looked incredibly happy. Jenny's eyes then flutter back to Harry, her smile faltering. "I didn't mean—you and, uh—"

"I know," Harry nods with a smile. He doesn't feel jealousy, or any unhappiness about it. He's glad she's not afraid to be who she is in front of everyone. It's a gift to be that way. "Go dance with your girl, not me. Have fun."

She nods and turns her attention fully to Cleo, their fingers laced together as she tugs her past sweaty people and then disappears in the crowd. Harry turns around and orders another shot.

"I think I should find my lady. I'm feeling left out," Niall grumbles from his spot at the bar. He sets down his beer he must have ordered earlier, and pats Harry on the shoulder as he walks away from him. 

Harry exhales loudly, throws back his shot, and orders another cherry vodka, and once the glass is in his hand, he pushes away from the counter to head back to their reserved seating. Seeing Jenny that happy made him miss Louis; he can't help it. The alcohol acted quickly once he started moving, though he didn't expect it to. He did have quite a few shots back to back, but he doesn't care. It's his birthday, and he can do whatever he wants. Like lure Louis into the bathroom and into a private stall. He just wants to be with him.

"Louis," Harry says once he reaches their secluded area. He was still on the couch with Zayn, and was still working on his beer. "I need you to get a little more in ya." He smiles and sits beside him, careful to not let his drink spill. 

"Harry, darling, I have," Louis sweetly says. It's then Harry notices all the empty shot glasses on the table in front of them. He stares back to Louis, whose cheeks appear a bit more red than normal. "Are you surprised?"

Harry only grins. "I've never seen you drunk. You're usually so..."

"Tame?" he questions, hand coming up to rub at Harry's lower back. His eyelashes flutter involuntarily.

"I, uh, guess you could say that," he quietly mutters. 

Zayn stands and stretches, motions with his thumb that he was heading out, and then does so.

"Meet me in the loo," Louis whispers into his ear. He stands and walks away right after, leaving Harry alone to process.

"That's what I was thinking!" he excitedly says to himself, face hot, and body tingling all over. Maybe it was the alcohol this time. Either way, he's not wasting a second, and definitely doesn't want to keep Louis waiting.

———

Louis grabbed him by the front of his trousers when he walked into the bathroom, and tugged him forcefully into an empty stall. The door slammed shut, he locked it quickly, then he fully attacked Harry's mouth as if he was his prey. His back hit the stall door, his legs spread to welcome Louis further, and his hands went to the back pockets of his jeans. It was instinctive, what can he say?

It wasn't so instinctive when he pinched his ass through his jeans. That was on purpose. A low sound emitted from Louis, and before he knew it, both of his hands were placed above his head as his boyfriend trapped them there with only one hand. Harry couldn't quite explain the sound that left his mouth, or the sound he made when Louis' mouth sucked its way down his neck. 

"Fuck, I want to—can I just—" Harry lowly groans, his voice sounding nothing like his own. His hands wiggled under Louis' firm grip, but he was able to tangle them free like he wanted to with ease. And it's not like he was against the position—he just wanted to be the one doing the nipping this time.

"What is it?" he whispered against his neck, breath hot, and teeth sharp as they playfully bit down.

Harry brought his hands to his chest, gave him a light push, and Louis complied with furrowed brows. His face was unbelievably red, forehead slightly sweaty, but before he had time to comment about it, Harry grabbed the collar of his shirt and flipped their positions. It was clumsily done, and Louis' back hit the door a lot more harshly than planned, but he only smiled and pulled Harry back into him. Their kissing resumed, but it was harder than before, more teeth than mouth or tongue, and he still felt inexperienced. He kissed the side of his mouth, then his jaw, until he made his way to his ear. It was always the safest way to go, Harry thought, especially if he's trying something new out.

His lips wrapped around his earlobe, gently sucking to emit a reaction out of Louis. Anything would encourage him, maybe even give him the confidence he needed. Louis' fingers pressed into the nape of Harry's neck, fingertips digging, and his front unexpectedly pressing into Harry's thigh—which were between his legs. 

He was sweaty and nervous, but so riled up at the same time. Like, unbelievably so. His stomach fluttered, his teeth bit again, and then he released his ear to kiss his way down past Louis' jaw, and to his neck, right below his ear. Louis groaned deeply, so Harry thought: what the hell? And then sucked harsher onto his skin, teeth and tongue working together to hopefully create a pleasurable experience for Louis. He was swearing underneath his breath, hand cradling the back of Harry's neck to hold him steadily there. He switched from kissing and biting to see if Louis responded to the duality of it well, which he did. He really did. 

"Fuck, your mouth is the eighth wonder of the world, babe," Louis groans from beneath him. 

Harry lifts his mouth from his neck to look down, hopefully to see a mark formed into his skin, and he gasps loudly. The bruise is a bright red, skin discolored and sore looking, but for some reason, Harry loved to see it on his neck. He dips his head back down, wets his lips, and places a gentle kiss over the angry, red shade. He can't help it; it looked so harsh on his creamy skin.

"Did you have your fun?" Louis breathlessly asks, fingers tangling in his hair. 

Harry lifts his head as Louis tugs at his hair, a smug smile forming on his lips. "You said whatever I wanted last week. Remember?" He innocently bats his lashes, just to be dramatic.

"Damn you, Harry," he laughs out.

Someone, maybe a few stalls over, coughs loudly. Harry stills instantly, his lower lip between his teeth. Louis brings his finger up to his lips with a wide smile, gesturing for him to be quiet as he unlocks the door rather slowly. He quietly opens it, and Harry carefully walks out as quietly as he could. No one was washing their hands, but he's not really scared of getting caught in the toilets. He's walked in on plenty of these types of scenarios—something's always going down in the stalls. He motions for Louis to come out with a roll of his eyes, and as soon as he steps out, the stall a few doors down opens up.

And out walks Liam Payne.

Harry's eyes go wide. But then they nearly fall out of his head when Zayn Malik steps out behind him.

The four of them, standing frozen, look at each other in complete and utter shock.

"You—" Harry and Liam say at the same time. 

"Are you and—!" Harry exclaims. 

Liam cuts him off, saying, "Are you and—" he points to Louis.

Harry gapes. 

Louis simply laughs.


	36. 35.

"Were you two together?" Harry questions with wide eyes.

Louis' still laughing, his shoulders shaking with each giggle.

"I—uh—" Liam starts, glancing to Zayn, and then to the floor. "Olivia and I just—we just broke up, and I—um, we just—"

"Just made out," Zayn says with a shrug. Harry stares at him next, but finds he's actually smiling. A closed-mouthed, shy smile. He then scratches the back of his head, but his eyes never leave Liam.

Liam's face is bright red. "Are you two a—a thing?"

Harry looks at Louis and Louis stares back. They both nod at the same time.

"What?" Liam questions. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Harry looks back and can't help but shrug, a sigh escaping his mouth. "It's hard, Liam. We didn't really want to tell many people in case it gets out of our hands. I was just trying to play it safe."

"You don't get it, Harry, we could've—helped each other, or—" He stops to huff loudly, his brows tightly pinched together as he waves his hand around dramatically. "I thought there was something wrong with me because I didn't like Olivia like that, you know? She would get so upset with me." Liam's eyes bounce between Louis and Harry. "How long?"

"Well, I sort of kissed him at the dance," Harry quietly says.

Louis leans over and elbows Harry's side. "Then he played it off like he didn't mean it. Left me hanging for quite a few."

Harry rolls his eyes. "You're the one that told me to go off with Jenny."

"Yeah, but then I took you to a gay bar, Curly."

"I did try to have a fake relationship to mask my feelings, huh?"

"Yeah, you sure did. Had me and everyone else fooled."

"What the hell?" Liam interrupted, looking to Zayn with wild eyes. "Did you know?"

Zayn breathily chuckles and lightly places his fingers on Liam's elbow. "I mean, yeah. Louis and I go way back. We used to live in London."

"What the fu—"

"Oh, God," Niall says as he walks in. He doesn't see Liam and Zayn to his left, just stares at Louis and Harry. "Did you two fuck in here? Tell me which one to not go to, please." 

"Niall?" Liam questions, confusion settling over his features yet again. He then turns back to Harry and gestures to Niall. "He knew?"

"Oh, damn. Damn it," Niall softly says. He blinks quickly and then rubs his hand over his face. "Sorry, I'm drunk. Fuck, Harry, I'm sorry. I didn't see."

"It's okay," he replies with a soft smile. "Liam, he found out himself. I didn't tell him."

"Wait," Niall starts. "Liam, you know? Thank God! It's fucking hard to not say anything. I'm so glad you know." He looks between everyone in the bathroom and then gestures to the stalls. "Which one is clean from... you know..."

"Jesus, Niall, they're all relatively clean! As clean as nightclub toilets can be," Harry mutters.

He simply nods and picks a stall to go into, the door slowly shutting behind him. It's a tad bit awkward with them all standing there, staring at one another, and finally Harry sighs.

"Can you two give us a moment? Please?" Harry asks. Zayn nods, and Louis softly kisses him on the cheek before they walk out together. The toilet then flushes, and Niall whistles his way out on the way to wash his hands. "Niall," he says with a clear of his throat.

He stops whistling and waves his hands to dry them off, turning around with a quick look between the boys. "Yeah?"

"Can we be alone?"

He nods. "Sure." 

He doesn't move.

Harry blinks.

Realization settles over his features and his brows raise. "Oh! You meant with Liam! Okay, yeah. See you out there." He throws up a peace sign as he's walking off, and Harry can't help but shake his head.

"Okay," Liam starts, stepping closer to him. "You and Louis have been secretly dating for a few months—"

"He's my boyfriend, yeah," Harry calmly says. Even though there's a bubble of excitement forming in his lower stomach from being able to say that aloud. 

Liam nods slowly as he processes this new information. "Yeah, um. So, no one else knows?"

Harry shifts on his feet, crosses his arms, and then scratches the side of his head. He doesn't want to hurt Liam's feelings by mentioning who all knows. "Well, Gemma and Jenny do. Jenny just figured it out, you know? And then we were in this fake relationship—"

"So, what the fuck was that?"

Harry sighs. Liam's just confused, that's all. He's hoping he's not mad. "We both just—we were just hiding, mate. From others. I don't know, Liam, it was such a confusing time. I thought I could make myself like her eventually, but it only helped me realize what I really wanted."

Liam nods slowly, his eyes trailing away from Harry and to the ceiling. He can tell his thoughts are running wild. "That's nice," he finally says after a drawn out silence. "Zayn and I had—we hung out not too long ago. Um, that's when I really realized what I was feeling." He tears his eyes away from the ceiling to look down, toeing the ground shyly. "Olivia and I just weren't working. I tried, I really did. She's a lovely girl, and I thought I liked her, but I just...like someone else."

Harry can't help but smile. "Obviously."

"I don't mean to dump this on you during your, like, birthday thing," he says with a sigh. "Zayn's just..."

"Hot."

Liam's face goes red, but he nods. "Yeah, he is." He finally looks up at Harry, and a smile spreads wide across his face. "Apart from Zayn, I thought I was alone in this. You and Louis, it gives me hope. If you both can make it work, maybe I should go for it."

Harry smiles widely, his heart feeling as though it was swelling in his chest. "Zayn obviously likes you, Liam. He asked me about you when he was giving my guitar lessons, you know."

His eyes lit up, as though it was news to him that Zayn likes him, even when they were just caught in a toilet stall together. "Really? He's—he's liked me that long?"

"Bloody hell, Li," Harry laughs. He can't help but step closer to him and wrap his arms around him tightly. 

"What?" he questions with a quick laugh.

"Oblivious," is all Harry says. When they pull away, he can't seem to wipe the smile from his face. "I'm glad you know. And I'm glad you know how you feel about Zayn. He's nice, Liam. Loyal. Like, annoyingly loyal. His bond with Louis is basically unbreakable."

Liam sighs; it's one of relief—maybe one of freedom. Whichever it was, Harry knows that sigh. Knows how it feels when someone is accepting, and when one can finally be true to who they are. There's no more hiding. It's incredibly freeing.

———

"So," Louis says. Harry's finally returned, his buzz wearing off. Louis hands him another drink as if he knew it would happen. "Liam and Zayn, eh?"

Harry nods and sits beside Louis on the couch, tucked a little bit closer to him than normal. "You're not upset he knows?"

Louis looks at him with furrowed brows. "He and Zayn are having a thing, Harry. Of course I'm not upset."

Harry simply nods.

"What's the time?" his boyfriend asks. Before he knows it, Louis' fingers are on his wrist, turning it over, and eyeing the time with a dropped jaw. "Twelve-fifteen!" he dramatically says, fingers still gripping his wrist, and his face wonderfully close to his own. "Happy birthday, Harry."

Harry's stomach sort of flips. Just by the touch on his wrist, and just by the loving smile on Louis' face. His face instantly heats up. "Thank you."

"I have another present for you," Louis softly says, fingers slipping away from his wrist. 

"Oh?" Harry excitedly questions. 

"Yeah," Louis spoke with a nod.

He's being a tease. "Tell me already!"

"You already have it," he says with a laugh. He picks up his beer and takes a rather large swig of it. "In your house."

Harry's brows furrow. "In my house?"

"Mhm," he replies. Harry rolls his eyes. "Fine, it's the guitar. I want you to have it. Happy birthday."

Harry's lips part, the humor and dramatics instantly leaving his body. He curls deeper into the couch to process his words, because it can't be. "But I'm just borrowing it. It was your father's," he quietly says.

"And I didn't play it. You love it, so I want you to keep it. Don't worry about it."

Harry wants to kiss him. But there's others around. Instead he spreads his hands out until he's reached the outer thigh of his pants, and gives it a gentle pinch between his fingers. He's mostly pinched his jeans, but any touch would hopefully do. "I love you," is all he can say. What else is there to say? "Thank you."

———

It's a few weekend's after his birthday, and he somehow convinced his Mum to let Louis take him to tour a University. He's not exactly sure how, since she's been down his throat about it all, and has been extremely clingy as of late. The topic of graduating is a sensitive one, but one even more so, is University.

There's one close by, maybe an hour by train, but it's not one that's interesting him as much as the one in London. That one is dedicated to the study of music, theater, and anything instrumental. He sadly admits that he's brought home a book from the library to read up on it from time to time, but it wasn't so present on his mind until now. Until tours started happening. He'd sent out applications to nearly every surrounding University, but thought it was still ages away. 

He really does hate how time works.

But, as he said, Louis' with him, and that's all that matters. It's an early Saturday morning, the tour starts before noon, and then they have the rest of the afternoon to do as they please. It's not a bad way to spend a Saturday, really.

"'University of Reddington'?" Louis says with a laugh. He flips the pamphlet over and scans the back of it. "Is that a real place?"

"Yes," Harry says with his nose in the air. He snatches the pamphlet out of his hands to look it over, with the aged University building in the background, and a cluster of students posing with books in their hands. "What's wrong with it?"

"Sounds American, no?" He continues with a laugh, taking the pamphlet back. The train shakes and it slides Louis closer to Harry. "'The University of Reddington—home of the Dragons—is proud to be a stepping stone for out of the box thinkers, unique individuals, and dreamers.'" Louis' nose crinkles, and Harry knows he's trying to keep from laughing. "Why are you interested in them again?"

Harry shakes his head and adjusts his back against the uncomfortable seating. Only a thin, gray cushion comes between them and the hard wood of the booth they're sitting in. He's thankful not many are on the train, so they're fortunate enough to not share the seating across from them with anyone else. "They're close," he finally says. He takes the pamphlet back again and stuffs it in his brown crossbody bag before Louis can snatch it back. "I can try the music program without the technical side of things."

"Like reading music notes?" Louis questions, almost seriously this time. But the fingers tugging at the end of his curls sort of messes with the seriousness. 

"Yeah," he responds with a nod.

"We haven't talked about, uh, what this all means," Louis says. The tugging on his hair stops. "I don't want you picking a school for the proximity."

He chews on the inside of his cheek and props his foot on the seat in front of him in an attempt to get a little more comfortable. They haven't talked about things at all, but mostly because Harry doesn't want to. He just doesn't want to worry about the future and moving and not living close to Louis. He just wants to love Louis without stressing about life like he usually does.

"We don't need to talk about it," Harry mutters, eyes on his boot. "And the closeness is just a perk, you know? We'll see what happens."

Louis sighs next to him. The only other person in the back of the carriage stands and exits, probably to use the bathroom, and Louis wastes no time in grabbing Harry by the chin and turning his face to him. "Are you okay?"

Harry's lips part from surprise. His fingers are gentle, but the action seems so...rough. Louis' piercingly blue eyes read past Harry's carefree words, and it's then his brows furrow. He decides to grab Louis' hand, in an attempt to distract him, and turn his wrist over to kiss it softly. "I'm perfect."

Louis' bright eyes follow the action and linger on Harry's lips. "I just want you to think of yourself, Harry. Not of me, not of us—yourself."

Harry glances over once, to make sure the person hasn't returned, before he's placing his mouth against Louis'. He always like the familiarity of his lips, the knowing touch he'll receive of either a hand on his jaw or on his hip; the only time his fingers scratch into his back is when they're getting it on, but for light, sweet kisses, Louis remains a gentleman. 

"Hm," Louis hums against his mouth, the both of them pulling away. "You know what your mouth does to me. If you don't want to talk about it, fine. It's not like you're moving away anytime soon."

Harry rolls his eyes. He really wishes to stop talking about it, but Louis' persistently stubborn in the most obnoxious way. So, it's not entirely his fault when he places a hand against his jaw to keep him steady, leans in, and bites harshly down on his ear. He pulls away quickly after with stifled giggles, watching as Louis gasps and reaches up to cradle his ear between his fingers.

Louis' surprised noises don't subside, and when he finally looks back at him, he doesn't hesitate to reach out and flick Harry's ear. "You deserve that."

Harry full-on laughs now, his shoulder rising to rub at his ear. "Sorry. You just wouldn't shut up."

Louis' jaw drops. "When did you become so mean?" He places his hand over his chest dramatically. "And you say you love me."

"Oh, come off it. You know I do."

"My throbbing ear says otherwise. How dare you use my weakness against me." Louis continues with the dramatics, even scoots away from Harry. "Can't trust anyone, even my lover."

"Am I your lover? I thought we had to have had—you know—to be that," Harry curiously ponders. He tilts his head back against the window.

Louis blinks quickly. "Harry Styles, you're a brave one today. We're in love, so you're my lover. Blimey."

Harry simply smiles fondly. "You know, Niall thinks you'd be the one handling all the business," he randomly says. He's certainly in a flirty mood, but it's possibly him just trying to avoid the inevitable, looming future talk. 

"All the business? The fuck is that supposed to—oh," Louis suddenly says. He puts his right elbow on the armrest and runs his pointer finger over his lower lip in thought. The stranger returns from the presumed toilets, so his voice drops into a whisper. "Well, of course. I know what I'm doing. You don't, love, sorry."

Harry pretends to be offended, although the thought of them together in such an intimate way has his cheeks heating up and his stomach fluttering. "I could...figure it out..." he quietly says, eyes shooting downward out of embarrassment.

"Well, yeah. Practice makes perfect," he cheekily responds.

Harry's eyes dart back up to find Louis smiling confidently. God, he's so in love. "I hate how hot you are," he quietly admits. "I mean, I don't hate it. Like, it's really nice. You're just...you..."

Louis pats at Harry's knee. "I like the compliments, love, keep 'em coming. Got thirty more minutes on this train. Tell me all about how hot I am and how much you love me."

They both laugh probably too loudly, but he doesn't care. "And what about me?"

And... mistake. Big mistake. Because Louis leaned over and told him all about how his lips make him feel, the way his hands always get him riled up, and how his big, green eyes always make him look so innocent. And more about what he'd love to do to him, which was utterly surprising, and fuck, he had no idea. Not a single clue that Louis felt so sexually attracted to him like that. Frankly, they haven't gotten to that point of the relationship. They've taken it slow, and they get so caught up with just being so intensely happy to be together, that they don't do anything else. And a large part of it is the insane law, he knows. He knows Louis probably doesn't want to cross a line they can't come back from, especially if they're caught.

It's just bloody hard.

Because he'd like nothing more than to feel, and to experience, that closeness with Louis. There's only so much words can do. And, sadly, hands.

———

The University of Reddington was, disappointingly, nothing spectacular. The people seemed lovely, really, but the school was small. The campus was quaint, and it was something they bragged about, saying they prided themselves in the homely feeling. "If you meet one person, you could meet them all. Everyone knows everyone," he recalled their guide, Laura, saying. It just so happens that's the opposite of what he wants. If he's moving away from home, he wants to move away from home. 

The dorms weren't terrible, but as expected. Small, with two twin beds that could be converted into a loft or just a normal height. The classes offered were everything he'd need to complete a music education degree. He could also take a class for learning sheet music, not just chords, and could broaden his knowledge on the history of music. Which is all he wanted. It just still didn't feel quite right.

Louis was absolutely perfect through it all, even stepping up to ask questions Harry was too shy to ask. "How's the campus life? What can a student find to do on the weekends?" And so much more. He was thankful for him, in those moments, considering he didn't have his Mum there to ask those questions.

All in all, it wasn't so bad. Only an hour from home, and at least the town was bigger than Charlesden. A few nightclubs, a variety of pubs, and a selection of wonderful restaurants that actually did excite him. 

"Wasn't so bad," Louis says once they've sat down. They chose a simple restaurant that served basically everything: sandwiches, fish, salad, and chicken. "I liked the, er, dragon statue. Bit weird, but I liked it."

Harry nods slowly in thought, his lower lip taken between his teeth. "Yeah, yeah. It was nice."

The waitress came by with a sway of her skirt, a notepad in her hand, and a pencil tucked behind her ear. Blonde hair was wrapped high in a ponytail, and bangs feathered out across her forehead. "Hello, handsome boys. Welcome to the Flaming Dragon. What drinks can I start you off with?"

"Two Cokes, please," Louis says, eyes raking the papered menu. "With cherries."

She nods with a smile. She couldn't be much older than Harry. "Are you ready to order or do you need a few?"

"We're ready," he and Louis say at the same time. They both smile at each other before ordering, and she jots it down hastily. Once their order is taken, she takes paper menus from them with another smile.

"I'll go put your order in. Are you two new to town? Haven't seen you 'round before," she says.

Harry nods. "University touring."

"Oh, of course, yeah. I go to Reddington. Nice place. I'm Marie, by the way," Marie says, still happily smiling. Harry smiles back. "Nice to meet you. If you choose to come here, now you know a friendly face."

Harry nods, she nods back, and then spins on her heel to put in their lunch order. He puts his elbows on the table and laces his fingers together, and when he looks at Louis, he sees he's wiggling his brows at him.

"What?" he says with a confused laugh.

"Someone has a crush on you," he says with a smile.

"You're joking," he plainly says. "She was just being nice."

Louis shrugs, leans back in his chair, and glances over to the bar where Marie stood. "Probably. But I could sense it. You're a babe—already have University girls drooling over you."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Stop it. Wait until they figure out I'm in a very committed relationship, and they're not my type."

"What is your type, then?"

He looks up in thought, as if he was actually thinking about it, but he was really just trying to be funny. "Has to be a little shorter than me. Not by much, but just a little. And blue eyes, of course. Like ocean waters. A bit sassy, otherwise things would be terribly boring. And, you know, a penis. With a perky bum. Oh! And his name has to be Louis. Anything else would just be weird."

Louis' face is twisted in a happy smile, his lips pressed together, and it looks like he's trying hard not to laugh. "I think I check most of those boxes."

"Yeah," Harry smiles back. "I think you do."

———

"I think this was that exciting student life our lovely Laura was talking about," Louis says with a snort. 

They're walking down a boardwalk, filled with shops and different tasty treats. People on roller-skates zip past them with whimsical dance moves, and without a care in the world. It was rather charming with the way no one seemed to care about how others viewed them. He quite liked that.

"Definitely not like Charlesden," Harry softly says. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers, the wind a bit harsh against his skin. "How did you choose where you wanted to go?"

Louis sniffled, his nose scrunching up momentarily. The bustle around them made it easy to blend in and not worry about others spotting them and viewing them strangely; in Charlesden everyone knew them. It was nice to be strangers.

"I sort of didn't. Got accepted where Dad went to school, so I followed the path he wanted me to take. Which, as you know, didn't last long." Harry nods and stays quiet—isn't sure what to say when he mentions his dad. "Don't do what I did. Go wherever you feel like is the place for you."

He nods again, a sigh making its way up from his chest until it pushes past his lips. "Can I ask you something?"

Louis slows down a bit, and then looks over at Harry with his brows drawn in. "Yeah, anything. What is it?"

"I was just...curious, you know," he starts off nervously. "I remember you telling me when we first met that you hadn’t talked to your mum for years, and I was just—"

"You do realize I said that because she basically kicked me out for being gay, right?" Louis interjects, his brow raised. "I moved in after Dad died, thinking I was being a big help and all. We never really got on before, but when she got that bloody call was when all hell broke loose. How long has this been on your mind? I mean, I wasn't lying. There was just no way of saying it before."

Harry nods, instantly regretting bringing it up. He didn't mean it in that way—he was just curious about his parents. How it was with them splitting up, and it was just a mistake. Truthfully, it wasn't on his mind. It was just something he recalled in that very moment. 

"It hasn't been. I was just wondering about, like, all of it. I don't know. And the divorce. I'm just wondering how my parents are going to go about things, especially if I'm off for University. I just wonder about it all." He shakes his head. "It's nothing, let's just get back to exploring."

And so they do. It's as if the topic was never brought up with the way they're laughing at dumb jokes and talking about little things that don't matter. The town's got some charm, and they were able to keep busy enough until dinner rolled around. They'd asked a local about a good place for dinner, and the local pub, Mulligans, apparently had the best fish and chips around, so that's where they ended up.

The atmosphere was charming. The outside painted black, the inside dim and a tad busy, but there was live music and it made Harry all the more excited. They sat at a cozy booth, with an overhead light dangling from the ceiling, and it was another place they seemed to be able to disappear in. Paper menus were already sitting on the table, and as they eased in, Harry couldn't keep the smile off his face.

"You're seem happier," Louis notes.

"I like it—this place," Harry says, looking around eagerly. It's just nice being away from home and somewhere so new.

"If you like this, we should head to London again. It's this place on steroids." He leans back in the booth and watches the people on the stage for a moment, before he settles his gaze back on Harry. "It's never boring in the city. I feel like you'd like it there."

Harry softly smiles. "I was looking at a University there. Their school is insane—it's only for music majors. A major can be anything related to music." He stares off dreamily, but a loud strum of the guitar snaps him back to reality. He clears his throat. "But it's hard to get into. And I'd have to perform in front of people to, like, audition. No, thanks."

"Why haven't you talked to me about that?" Louis curiously asks.

Harry scans his face to see if he was annoyed, or angry, or upset in any way, but he didn't seem to be. Just genuinely curious, which calms his nerves a little bit more. "I didn't want to," he spoke with a shrug. "It only made me think about moving far away—away from you. I didn't want to talk about anything like that. Or even think about it."

Louis nods as Harry speaks, his fingers tapping against the table, and as he parts his lips to reply, their waitress stops by and interrupts them.

"Hi, you two. What can I get ya?"

"Pint of the black stuff, and he'll take a cherry vodka and a water," Louis says. She nods and smiles, then leaves to place in their drink order. Harry laughs. "Don't be scared about the future," he says, resuming their conversation. "We can talk about these things."

Harry only smiles and places his chin in the palm of his hand. He didn't know his boyfriend knowing his drink order would be so attractive. "I know. Especially when my man is the most understanding, loving guy around."

"Oh, plea—"

"All right!" Someone shouts into a microphone. Harry turns around toward the stage to see a guy with an apron tied around his waist. "It's that time of the night. The band's taking a break, and now's your chance to get up on stage and show us what you've got. Any takers?"

"Him!" 

Harry's eyes go wide. He turns his head around so fast that he hurts his neck, but Louis' standing and pointing to Harry, and he suddenly takes back every loving thing he's ever said about Louis. Everything. 

"Louis!" he shouts, eyes still wide, and his heart thumping heavily in his chest. 

Louis looks down and gestures to the stage. "Get your practice in, Harry! If you're going to audition somewhere, at least play in front of people before. Most of them are drunk, anyway."

"You coming up, hair?" the guy calls out.

He glances around, sees the mostly sober people are looking at him expectantly. Oh, God. He can't. He's never played in public before! Only in front of Zayn! Fuck, if he can't do this, he really can't pursue a degree in it. A career in it. 

"Harry, come on. You'll do great," Louis says with an encouraging smile.

Their waitress stops by with their drinks in hand, and before she can place Harry's on the table, he snatches it from her hands and downs it instantly. The sourness and vodka makes him shiver, but gives him enough courage to stand. Drunkards clap and cheer, and the guy on stage motions him up. He gives Louis one last stressed look, but he just gives him a thumbs up and an excited nod. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," he mutters to himself as he weaves past tables that lead to the stage. There's a single light hitting the stage, and the brightness blinds him when he steps slowly up to it.

"What's your name?" the guy asks into the microphone. He then moves the mic toward Harry.

He gulps, leans closer to it, and mutters a quiet, "Harry Styles."

"Well, Harry. Ask Mitch here what you want to sing, and he'll play it for you. Good luck!"

Harry turns to find a guy with long, dark hair sitting on a stool with a guitar in his lap. He inhaled shakily and gulps again, his fingers coming up to rub at his nose nervously and then tug at his lower lip. "Could I actually play the guitar? Is that okay? I've never done this, but I'm learning, and I just—I don't know, it's just—"

"Sure, yeah," Mitch replies with a nod. And Harry blinks in surprise—he's American. He then stands and hands the guitar over, his face nearly blank, but he supposes he just doesn't care. "What are you singing? Maybe I could play electric with you."

Harry's brows raise in interest. There's a simpler chorded song he knows, which has an electric playing along with it. And it might not sound too bad. "Lola by The Kinks?" he quietly asks, not sure if it's a good idea. After all, he's never played publicly. None of it's a fucking good idea. 

Mitch smiles, and it's barely there, but he nods in approval. "Yeah, yeah. Good one." 

Harry puts the guitar on, the strap resting against his shoulder and the guitar falling perfectly against his stomach. It's a nice guitar—well loved, by the looks of it. It's scratched and chipped in some places, but it won't matter what it looks like if he messes up. He really hopes he doesn't mess up. Before he gets too anxious, Mitch is back from grabbing the electric guitar off the stand. He sits back down on the stool, twists a dial on the guitar, and looks up at Harry expectantly.

He clears his throat and scratches the spot behind his ear with his guitar pick. "You kick it off, man."

"Oh, right, shit," Harry mumbles. He turns around, and boy, was that a mistake. People stare right back at him, and he squints through the bright light to try and find Louis, who's waving and grinning happily. He wants to flip him off. "Um," he says, mouth near the mic. "I—I've never played in front of people before, so. Yeah," he quietly says. A few whistles sound out for encouragement, but Harry just takes a step back, turns to look at Mitch, and strums the first few chords.

He leaves out the intricate picking, and instead goes for an easier introduction for the song, by just continuing the guitar strums. He plays until he knows he needs to come in, and he knows he's playing it correctly, but he's so terrified that he doesn't know if he can sing out the words. And then he misses his cue. 

And he wants to pass out.

"You're fine, man, just keep playing!" Mitch says from behind him.

Harry nods, looks down at his finger placement, and continues playing until he can work up the courage to sing the first line. He inhales deeply, squeezes his eyes shut, leans in, and sings: 

"I met her in a club down in old Soho, where you drink champagne and it tastes like cola."

He strums, parts his lips, and smiles widely when the people in the pub shout out "C-O-L-A" along with him. It only gives him the confidence to sing louder into the mic, with the voices of everyone else joining in alongside him.

"She walked up to me and she asked me to dance. I asked her her name, and in a dark brown voice she said Lola," he continues to sing with a shy smile. 

And then everyone shouts out: "L-O-L-A, Lola!"

He continues the lyrics right after, pulls away from the microphone to focus on his strums staying on beat, and then Mitch comes in on the electric guitar behind him. He can't help but smile widely and turn slightly to watch him play with such ease, as if it was second-nature. Not a look crossed his face, he just plainly shut his eyes and played. Harry was beyond shocked. So much so that he almost forgot to come in on the next line. And then, miraculously, the light wasn't as bright anymore. The people in the pub singing along kept shouting the lyrics; it energized him even more, until he was fully confident in himself. He and Mitch played well together, flowing with the song and bouncing off one another. If Harry had a mess-up, Mitch covered him with a loud strum or spontaneous solo. 

After it was all over, any drunk person with lowered inhibitions claps and hollers out praises, but Harry knows better than to believe he actually did good. Anything would please a drunk person. He still feels good about himself, though. For getting on stage and singing and playing, and for going through with it with only a few mistakes. Not too bad for his first time.

He turns to find Mitch waiting patiently, his electric put away. Harry takes off the guitar and hands it back to him. "You're not bad," he casually says. "You've got a nice tone to your voice. How old are you?"

"Wow, thank you," he says with disbelief. "Uh, nineteen."

He nods, puts the guitar strap over his head and on his shoulder, before staring back at him. "You go to school here?"

"Uh, no, actually. Toured it today. Do you go here?"

He nods. "Yeah, but I'm transferring in the fall to the Academy of Music in London. It's way better there, trust me."

Harry gapes, blinks in shock, and throws up his hand dramatically. "That's where—that's what I've been researching. You're really talented. Must be for getting in there."

"Yeah, well, you could do it. Your voice is quite something—not lying to you, man. You should go for it. Last name's Rowland. Find me there next semester if you get in."

They both shake hands, and Harry doesn't know how to respond to the compliment. Especially from someone so talented. And it turns out he doesn't have to, because the guy from earlier hope onto the stage and basically ushers Harry off.

"Give it up for Mr. Harry Styles!" he loudly says.  
People clap around him. "Anyone else want to come up and give it a shot?"

He reaches the booth Louis was sitting at, who was wearing a wildly happy smile that nearly consumed his entire face. Harry felt his face heat up as he sat down with his eyes off to the side.

"Holy shit, Harry!" Louis says. He reaches across the table and hits his shoulder. "You're fucking insane, Curly. I knew you could sing, but not like that. Or play like that. Damn. I'll tell Zayn his lessons have certainly paid off."

Louis was rambling, and it only made Harry even more embarrassed for some reason. "Thanks," he quietly says. He feels oddly energetic, embarrassed, and happy, all at the same time. It's weird.

"And do I need to talk about how hot it was to see you up there? Doing the thing that makes you happiest?" Louis says with a shake of his head. He leans across the table on his forearms. Harry repeats the action. "Take me now, Harry Styles. I'm your first groupie."

He snorts at that. "Take you now?" he laughs out. 

"I'm all yours," Louis tries to seductively say. It only makes Harry laugh harder. "But fine, if it's funny to you, I'll stop. But I won't stop complimenting you. Because holy shit, Harry, you're talented as hell."

And he wants to kiss him. He's smiling widely, from ear to ear, and can't stop. It was possibly the most fun he's had in a night, and now he's got a clearer mind about his future. He knows what he wants: he wants Louis and his music. If that's all he's got, then he's already the luckiest guy there ever was. His foot reaches out underneath the table to find Louis', and then they lock ankles.

"I love you," he whispers to him. He knows no one's listening, but it's just a precaution. 

"Oh, my God," Louis vocalizes, fanning himself. "Harry Styles just told me he loves me." He places the back of his hand across his forehead and acts as if he fainted, his head hitting the back of the booth.

"Fuckin' hell," he mutters to himself, his hands coming up to his face to mask his embarrassed looks. "Lou, please."

"He knows my name!" he shouts out.

Harry's eyes go wide, his fingers spreading to peek through them and to Louis. "I'm gonna die from embarrassment."

"I'm gonna die from how much I love you, Harry Styles," Louis goes on, as if he's a crazed fanatic. But there's truth behind his words.

Harry just shakes his head. "Dork."

Louis winks and takes a sip from his pint, and Harry tries to ignore the flutter from the deepest part of his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so i feel like this was a giant filler chapter and was probably the most boring but i’m sorry it had to be written :( not trying to make anyone sad, but i’m preparing for the ending of this fic soon. i’m excited. i love this story and all of you. i can’t wait for you all to read how things turn out (again, don’t worry. i know i wrote flower crowns but this story ain’t that).
> 
> love u all!


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